


The Boggart

by TheRogueLibrarian



Series: An angel's curse and its far off consequences [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry, Abused Neville, Angels, Boggarts (its implied), Child Abuse, Complete, Death, Draco is obsessed, First Person Chapter Titles, Harry-centric, Heavy angst and abuse, House Elves, M/M, Neville is a sweetie, POV Third Person, Remus isn't involved much, Ron and Hermione and Dumbledore bashing, Snape is annoying and presumptuous, Snarky Harry, Suicidal Themes, Swearing, Third Year, and also dark, and slightly homicidal, disillusioned harry, troubled harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRogueLibrarian/pseuds/TheRogueLibrarian
Summary: After Harry Potter's darkest secret is revealed via a Boggart in third year he does something drastic. Cursed with the angels gift, an 'I don't care and I quit' attitude and disillusioned to who his real friends are, the fates have changed.





	1. When I almost shit my pants - because Boggarts are really scary

It was third year and Harry stood just inside the classroom as Lupin explained about Boggarts. He had an uneasy feeling. He knew what his worst fear would be and then everyone would know.

 

Harry gulped.

 

Fear rising in his chest of the secret he would most likely be revealed. What could he do to stop this? To get away? He could say it would be Voldemort. He could say a dementor. He could say it would be a fucking Avada kedavra curse. At least then he wouldn't make Harry stand up to his fear. His fear that never goes away. His fear that if he were to stand up to it he would be punished more.

 

As he explained that one would have to change it into something funny he gasped silently to himself.

 

How could one make something so terrifying funny?

 

How could one make your living shame, anger, fear, hatred all bundled into one into some sort of joke?

 

No one could joke away the pain Harry felt every second he was breathing. No one could understand that every moment of his life was filled with dread. That he would rather face Voldemort three times over than face his real fear. That he would rather be called freak. Rather be ostracised from school. Rather find out he wasn't a wizard than face his fucking fear.

 

Lupin ordered the class to stand in a line.

 

Harry stood behind Malfoy. Malfoy stood behind Seamus. Seamus stood behind Ron. Ron stood behind Lavender. Lavender stood behind Pavrati. He had five people in front of him. Five people until his dirtiest secret was revealed. Five people to escape.

 

Harry couldn't even run.

 

His legs felt like stone as they glued him to the floor. His hands were starting to shake slightly. His breath caught in his throat and it came out raspy. But no one noticed as the class laughed at the snake that had turned into a piñata.

 

Harry didn't have enough time. Not enough time in the world to run. For someone who was meant to be a Slytherin you would think he would be able to run at a time like this. You would think he would see that it was better for people to be curious than know the truth. For someone who was a Griffindor you would think he wouldn't be frozen in fear at the inevitable.

 

Harry failed at both.

 

Lavender's turn. A pool of darkness turned into nothing but a puddle of dirty water. Strange. Everyone still laughed.

 

Another person was gone from the line. Fuck. There were only three people and Harry didn't have time to think about how to make his greatest fear into a joke. He could never do that. It would never be funny. How wounded he was could never turn into something like that.

 

How, after so long, could he let everything be so transparent? How after years could he let everyone see how much of a freak he really was? How after everything that he had been through could he have let it all boil down to nothing?

  
Harry felt sick.

 

Ron attached ice skates to the giant spider in front of him. Everyone laughed. Harry didn't.

 

There were only two left.

 

Time seemed to speed up as Harry realised what was about to happen. It truly sunk in. Would he feel relieved that everyone finally knew? That he would be free to no longer carry this secret on his shoulders? A secret that burned and cut and whipped. A secret that was weighing him down so much that he could barely stay above water. A secret that stole his dreams and replaced them with nightmares, a cynical Santa Claus that gifted him with terror all year round. This secret that he had told no one. This secret that followed him around at every waking hour like a second shadow.

 

A secret that maybe he didn't have to hide.

 

Seamus's clown suddenly lost all his make up and had a breakdown. Everyone laughed. Harry didn't find it funny.

 

Harry was surprisingly calm. The calm before the storm one might have said. He took a look around the classroom. The pupils. He wondered how different it would be if they knew. How much they would treat him differently. Look at him differently. Once his secret was as free as the air he was not worthy to breathe, would he see the world differently? Would he feel a weight off his chest that he had only read about? Would he finally be able to step off the Astronomy Tower ledge with a clean conscience?

 

Malfoy's father glared at him and told him he was a disappointment. Malfoy blushed and put his father in a dress. Everyone laughed. Harry stayed silent.

 

Like what he did with everything in life.

 

Harry stepped forward, new terror churning in his chest like stormy waves. Malfoy looked at him with intrigue. Everyone did. As if thinking _What does the Chosen One fear?_ Harry could almost laugh if he weren't so fucking frightened. Would they be disappointed? Think his fear was worth nothing?

 

Harry shakily raised his wand as he prepared himself. He saw Lupin out of the corner of his eye realise something, did he think it would be Voldemort?

 

It would not be Voldemort.

  
They probably expected that. Voldemort. Or Dementors. Or a spider. Or something normal. They certainly weren't expecting the boggart to change like it did from the gasps he heard around the room.

 

Harry stood frozen in fear as his uncle glared down at him. A shabby looking middle aged muggle was not what anyone expected. No one had seen him before. Not even at Kings Cross. No one knew who it was. No one at all.

 

Except Harry.  
  
Ice cold dread filled him in every inch of his being. Fear pumped like blood through his veins. His heart started to pound loud enough that he thought everyone would hear it. A roaring filled his ears. A silence filled the room. Not one sound made it from anyone's mouth except the haggard feral breathing of the boggart.

 

He had a belt in his hand.

 

He had cold hard anger in his eyes.

 

He had words that could cut as deep as a knife.

 

Harry dropped his wand. His body froze. No one moved. No one spoke. Everyone gasped when they heard what the boggart said.

 

“You _freak_. You _dare_ live in our house. Eat our food. Dirty our air. Spread your freakishness! You don't deserve to breathe you excuse for life. Do they think you're special there? Do they now? Have they not realised that you are a freak who should have died with your parents?”

 

Not a sound for a beat.

 

1... Silence.

 

2... Confusion.

 

3... Realisation.

 

The man started to walk towards Harry. Harry had paled. Blood gone from his face. Fear frozen in his eyes. The uncle let out a cold chuckle. He said,

 

“You've brought this upon yourself.”

 

As he raised the belt Harry closed his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek. Everyone stared. He prepared himself for the pain. Oblivious of where he was. No longer aware that this was not his real uncle. He waited. Took a breath. Steadied his feet...

 

Lupin jumped in front of him and the man disappeared to be replaced by the moon. He shouted _riddikulus_ and it changed into a balloon.

 

Harry opened his eyes. The boggart was back in its box. He felt a hand on his arm and the worried voice of Hermione say,

 

“Harry?”

 

Her voice was soft. Non threatening. Confused. Scared.

 

Harry pulled himself out of her grasp and ran from the room.

 

The class stood in silence.

 

Now they knew the truth.

\--

 

Harry ran through the halls, the whispers of paintings following him wherever he went.

 

Fuck.

 

They knew.

 

He _let_ them know.

 

He did _nothing_ to stop them.

 

Harry started to pant as he ran, bruises and welts from last summer still healing, he wasn't in good enough health for long distances. That dementor attack didn't make it any easier. Holding his glamours when asleep didn't either.

 

Fuck.

 

They knew.

 

He reached an empty alcove and ran inside. He closed the curtain surrounding the tiny room and slumped down leaned against the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and clamped his arms protectively around them.

 

But he sort of had to because the alcove he had jumped into was so small.

 

He only just hid behind the curtain. The width of the small indentation in the wall was about the width of his shoulder and a half. It was long enough that it could fit two people but Harry pulled his legs up anyway.

 

He started to cry silent tears.

 

Fuck.

 

They knew.

 

The realisation only just sinking in. Maybe he could _obliviate_ them all? No. No doubt Lupin had already contacted Dumbledore.

 

Fucking Dumbledore, who put him with the Dursleys in the first place and didn't check on him once.

 

The alcove was dark. Small. Cramped. It reminded him of something. Something that made him feel safe. Why? Why did he go here? The realisation dawned on him like a slap in the face.

 

It was just like his cupboard.

 

Fucking hell he must have had some mental problems to think where they locked him up and starved him was a safe place. Or was it? It wasn't _crazy_ to come to the conclusion that if he was in there he was in less pain. When he thinks about it it makes more sense. Even though it kept him _in_ , it also kept them _out_.

 

Harry was just coming to terms with all this information when he heard a voice he most definitely did not want to hear. The regal, haughty, drawl of one Draco Malfoy.

 

Harry held his breath.

 

This was a bad idea.

 

He heard a sneer filled laugh,

 

“Potter, that is not the best hiding spot.”

 

Suddenly the curtain was pulled open and light flooded unwelcome into the alcove. Malfoy raised an eyebrow looking the same pompous ass as usual. Harry supposed some things never change. He crossed his arms and said,

 

“Well? What are you waiting for? You have the whole class looking for you.”

 

Harry just shook his head. Malfoy sighed. He drawled,

 

“Come on, Potter. Don't think anyone took your ploy for attention seriously.”

 

Harry stared up in curiosity. He said hopefully,

 

“Really? Do you think they'll believe that?”

 

Malfoy's face clouded in confusion. He said,

 

“Do you... _want_ them to think you were attention seeking?”

 

Harry laughed coldly,

 

“Yeah. Of course. You probably don't care, and I know you don't believe me anyway, but back there. That boggart. Was my life.”

 

Malfoy stared. His composure rocked. Then after a moment he straightened his face into a sneer and said,

  
“Well... Come on. I'm not dragging you out of there!”

 

Harry just crossed his arms and returned to looking at the inside of the alcove. Malfoy sighed and then did something very unexpected.

 

He sat.

 

With Harry.

 

In the cramped alcove.

 

With Harry.

 

Then he closed the curtains.

 

Malfoy lifted his knees to his own chest because there wasn't room for them both to lay them out comfortably. He analysed Harry for a moment before saying,

  
“Was it true? In class?”  
  


His voice sounded quieter than normal. Curious. But also tentative.

 

It was like they were having a conversation.

 

Harry replied, his voice only just above a whisper,

 

“It was. I... didn't know how to get out of there without it seeming suspicious.”  
  


Malfoy looked unconvinced for a second before he said something in awe,

 

“You're... crying.”  
  


Harry's wiped away his tears and said angrily,

 

“Fuck.”

 

Malfoy's eyes narrowed in worry. He said,

 

“So its... true? Who... was that?”

 

Harry spat,

 

“My uncle.”

 

Malfoy stared for a moment before saying,

 

“You _live_ with that pig?”

 

Harry nodded. He said,

  
“Its not like a I have a choice. Dumbledore said that there were blood wards or something so I couldn't leave.”

 

Malfoy's mouth dropped open. He said childishly, well he was a child. Only 13. They both were. But Harry felt older than that with all he's been through.

 

“What? He just... _left_ you there?”

 

He squeaked slightly. Harry nodded before saying,

 

“Never once checked up on me.”

 

Malfoy's eyes only widened further before he said,

  
“I thought... I thought you lived in a mansion...”

 

Harry laughed. Malfoy didn't. He said shocked,

 

“Wait. You were being _serious_?”

 

Malfoy nodded. Harry leaned back into the wall of the alcove and let out a sigh. He said,

 

“I suppose I'd better tell someone about my life before I go.”

 

“Go where?”

 

Malfoy asked curiously. Harry shrugged and said,

 

“Its not important now.”

 

He coughed. Readying himself. The cough sent pain throbbing through his body as it vibrated through his obviously fractured ribs.

 

Fucking glamours.

 

“Once I tell you this you need to go to Dumbledore and ask about using a pensive to view this memory. Can you do that?”

 

Malfoy nodded and murmured back to him,

 

“Dumbledore, pensive, memory, got it.”

 

Harry smiled lightly. He would miss his nemesis. He said,

 

“I expect after I have told you this you will let me leave because you're my enemy. You don't like me. You _still_ don't like me? Don't you? I can't tell you this if you like me.”  
  
Malfoy shook his head and sneered,

 

“Just because of a boggart we're not suddenly best friends, Potter.”  
  


Harry nodded, feeling satisfied with that response. He said,

 

“Okay. Once I tell you everything you need to let me have ten minutes before you go straight to Dumbledore. No one else. And let him view the memory. I need someone to know what happened to me.”

 

Malfoy cocked his head to the side,

 

“And why wouldn't _you_ be able to tell them?”  
  


Harry snorted,

 

“I'm leaving. I already told you that. Don't ask where but I can't stay here when everyone knows the truth. Do you understand? Can I trust you to go to him?”

 

Malfoy nodded,

  
“I will go to him and do as you say.”

 

Harry smiled slightly. He said,

 

“Well... Here goes nothing. Tell Ron and Hermione I love them. Well... Dumbledore should do that when he watches this memory. I leave all my possessions to Ron and Hermione to be split equally.”  
  


Malfoy narrowed his eyes,

 

“Why do they get your possessions? Where are you going?”

 

Harry looked away from him and said quickly,

 

“I'm going to... Uh... Change my name. Move to France. And start a new life. Lets just say... I'll be gone forever.”

 

Malfoy looked unconvinced but made a gesture for Harry to continue. He said,

 

“Well... My other goodbyes. I'd like to say goodbye to everyone in Griffindor. Uh... Sorry to the wizarding world for not defeating Voldemort for you. But... I gotta go. Um... Good luck with it all. Ah...”  
  


Malfoy snorted,

 

“Good speech. Riveting. How long will you be gone for?”  
  


Harry sighed, now looking in his lap,

 

“Forever. Anyway. Goodbye to the world... except France. So goodbye to everywhere except France. Um... Thanks to the Weasleys. For taking me in in some of the summers. Ah... Sorry to the Quidditch team, you probably won't be able to win with me gone at such short notice. Um... Say... Say sorry to Snape as well. I think I probably could have been nicer to him.”  
  


Harry paused. Malfoy's face was in shock. After a big breath he continued,

 

“Um... Fuck the Dursleys. You'll... Everyone... Will understand why after this. Actually. Malfoy. Maybe _don't_ go to Dumbledore?”  
  


Malfoy looked confused. Harry explained,

 

“Well... He seems like a bit of a manipulative bastard to be honest. Don't tell him I said so. But... he left me there... You know? He didn't even check up on me. Go see Snape instead. Okay?”  
  


Malfoy nodded numbly. Harry continued with his goodbye speech,

 

“Say sorry to Hedwig... I uh... Won't be bringing her with me. I'm sure everyone will be really sad when I'm gone but... I don't want that. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I don't want the whole school to have some meltdown. And... Just for the record. This is in _no way_ Malfoy's fault. I haven't been hypnotised or imperioed or anything. I've done this of my own accord and have been thinking about it for a while. Today was just... The last straw.”

 

Malfoy nodded faintly. Harry continued,

 

“That seems like a good enough goodbye speech. Feel free to do what you want with it. Uh... Now I guess... Its time to... Reveal the truth about the Dursleys.”

 

Harry took another breath and Malfoy noticed new tears were running down his cheeks. He didn't say anything. He instead simply tilted his head in curiosity. Harry began,

 

“I lived in a cupboard under the stairs for the first ten years of my life. I ate rarely. I was starved most of the time, probably why I'm so short. I never had presents. And until Hagrid came for me to take me to Hogwarts I didn't even know my birthday, let alone that I was a wizard.”

 

Harry took another breath and ignored Malfoy's shocked expression,

 

“At the Dursleys I was forced to do manual labour everyday and chores unless I was... extremely injured or unconscious. I cooked, cleaned, gardened, washed, I was basically treated like a slave. I had no possessions of my own until Hogwarts. Lets see... Where to start. Dudley was... is... is my cousin and he constantly taunted me and beat me up a couple times. Not that bad. Petunia, my aunt, verbally abused me since I have been able to hear although she never herself became violent. She called me freak, scum, dirty, fuck face, worthless and a lot of more nasty names.”  
  


Harry paused. Thinking for a moment before he continued,

 

“My uncle was quite violent. Very violent. And I believe I may have used unconscious magic to heal myself on many occasions. I have been beaten, kicked, punched, cut, burned, whipped, poured boiling water onto, pushed down stairs, and most recently...”

 

He took a breath,

 

“Raped.”

 

Malfoy gasped but Harry refused to look at him. He finished,

 

“The rape happened last summer. Only four times. It... Its hard to talk about.”

 

Harry took a shaky breath and Malfoy just stared.

 

“That about covers all the abuse. Now I'll talk about a few other facts of my life which I need to be out there. Um... I'm gay. I guess that's a good a place to start as any. I wasn't gay by the rape though, or anything like that. I've known since last year. I know I'm only 13, and everyone who hears this is probably going to feel sorry for me... especially after what happens next... but I... I don't want pity, or guilt, or anything. I'm nothing but a freak. And I know that. Uh... What else is there to say?”

 

Malfoy continued to stare in shock. Harry took another shakier breath, new tears rolling down his cheeks. He said,

  
“I don't... blame anyone really. I don't hate anyone either. I don't... _anything_. You know? Its not anyone's fault that they didn't see this. I used glamours for the bruises, unconsciously at first, but managed to perfect them... Its not... Anyone's fault is all I want to say. The only person I really blame is Dumbledore because he's a prick, but... Even then its not his fault.

 

I'm not like everyone thinks. I wasn't even meant to be in Griffindor. The hat told me Slytherin but I was scared and I said Griffindor. I'm not really the Boy Who Lived. I'm just a kid who get protected by his mother and wishes every day that he could die instead... I mean... Go to France. Just get away. I don't _really_ want to die. That was... Nah.

 

Well... There isn't much left to say except I'm sorry. To everyone. For abandoning everyone, and going to France. I just... can't deal with it if they look at me like that. But everyone knows now so I finally have an excuse to leave. I guess this means Voldemort wins. So... sorry about that.”

 

Harry laughed emptily. He said the thing he had been dreading,

 

“I suppose... Someone will need... _evidence_. Even when I'm gone... To know the truth... So... I'll remove my glamours so you can see... Just for a second... Sorry if I look a bit... uh... beat up.”

 

Then after three seconds Harry removed his glamours. Suddenly his face was covered in bruises and welts. Obvious scarring. Malfoy stared. Harry lifted off his shirt and he saw new wounds oozing blood. Harry turned and showed him the scars on his back and Malfoy gasped again,

 

“Oh my.”  
  


Suddenly the glamours reappeared and Harry put his shirt back on. The blood that Malfoy had seen on the shirt disappeared as well. Harry gulped and Malfoy placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. He said,

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

Harry just shook his head,

 

“It wasn't...”

 

Harry didn't finish the sentence. He stood and finished, opening the curtains,

 

“I should go... Uh...”

 

Finally Harry said,

  
“Thanks for this Malfoy... I'll uh... miss you.”

 

Malfoy blushed and said quietly,

 

“I'll miss you too. I mean... no one else really...”  
  


He trailed off and Harry smiled and said,

  
“I understand. Remember. Give me a ten minutes head start. Sorry to be a burden. Tell everyone... I'm sorry.”

 

Then Harry turned away from the alcove and ran to the Astronomy Tower.

\--

 

After five minutes Malfoy lost patience.

 

He ran to Snape's classroom mid-lesson. The teacher glared at him but Malfoy simply said, out of breath,

 

“Its important.”

 

The other students stared as Snape quickly walked out of the room. He said, a new worry in his tone,

 

“What is it?”  
  


Malfoy said, eyes wide,

 

“Its Potter. Do you have a pensive?”

 

Snape nodded. Malfoy continued,

 

“Well... We need to go to it. I have a memory to show you. Potter said to show you... I'm... ah... worried.”

 

Snape lifted an eyebrow but showed Malfoy to his office anyway. He slid his pensive from its hiding spot and extracted the memory. Then, with Malfoy, he placed his head into the silvery liquid.

 

He watched with a growing sense of dread and the moment Potter started to talk about leaving for good he pushed himself out, taking Malfoy with him. Malfoy stared,

 

“He said to watch the whole-”

 

“No time to talk. I fear Potter is suicidal.”

 

Malfoy's world froze.

\--

 

Harry stood at the edge finally letting his emotions rein free. For years he's let them settle. He's pushed them away. He's said 'I'm fine' 'It doesn't matter' 'I'll be okay'. Harry had let himself become numb and accepting. Just accepting everything life threw at him.

 

Now he felt alive.

 

For the first time in a long time he didn't feel like a robot. He didn't feel like an empty shell of a person who was forced like a puppet to be everyone's slave.

 

He didn't have to be the Boy Who Lived.

 

He didn't have to be Freak.

 

He didn't have to be anyone's friend.

 

Anyone's hero.

 

Anyone's enemy.

 

Harry was just Harry. Harry was free. And for the first time he can remember he had a feeling that everything would be okay. He could jump and it would be over. He could fly for the last time with no broom. He could go to heaven, if such a place existed, or simply bask in the black nothingness of death.

 

Harry had a choice for once.

  
This step. This jump. This flying leap was his choice. He could turn back around and go to the common room and no one would be any the wiser. He could actually go to France.

 

But he didn't want to.

 

Harry wanted to break free of his shackles and rise like a phoenix out of the ashes. He could finally rise like that sacred bird.

 

He could finally see his parents again. He could apologise and then they could live as one happy family in the afterlife. But, if there wasn't an afterlife he could just feel content knowing he would be free.

 

He took a deep breath as he looked around him. He was cold, thin and frail. He was weak, bruised and injured. His feet were burning slightly at the sensation of the ice cold stone of the Astronomy Tower balcony. The wind whipped his hair around as if he were already flying. His heart beat slowed as a sense of cruel calm washed over him.

 

The fear and pain was not gone. It consumed him. But, underneath that was a gentle calm, rising up around him. Harry knew that if he jumped that calm would consume him. There was no fear of death for him. There was only a sense of selfishness. How would the others see him? Would they be disappointed? Would they be sad because he had decided to no longer be their puppet?

 

For some reason Harry felt that the only person he would miss would be Malfoy.

 

He reasoned it was because Malfoy always made him feel alive. Made his heart beat. Made the numbness end. Even Ron and Hermione didn't know the real him. They probably wouldn't like him if they did. They wouldn't like the pain. The anger. The depression. The darkness.

  
They wouldn't like the hidden evil that surrounded him.

 

They would miss him, but not _him_. They would miss the role he played but he would soon be replaced.

 

Harry took another deep breath, analysing himself in fascination as his lungs filled. As that feeling filled him further. That deadly calm.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

Put his hands by his sides.

 

Let the hatred fill him for the last time.

 

And...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Jumped_.

\--

 

Snape and Malfoy ran as quickly as they could although they weren't sure where they were going. Where could Potter have gone? How could he have tried? Somehow they both wordlessly settled on seeing the Headmaster. It was the only place they really could go.

 

Snape was determined yet scornful. Another dive at attention... _Kind of_? Because if what Potter was saying was real... He pushed it aside. Suicidal or not he had to find the brat and set him straight. He didn't even know about the prophecy yet. He didn't even know what his death would do to the wizarding world.

 

Malfoy followed Snape with a sharp fear coiling in his bones. He still remembered how those words seemed to ricochet through his mind.

 

_Suicidal._

 

_Suicidal._

 

_Suicidal._

 

_Suicidal._

 

_Suicidal._

 

Potter. Potter was a constant. Potter was always there. Potter was always an arrogant prick who deserved to be insulted. Potter was his enemy. He shouldn't feel _bad_ for his enemy. He should feel anger. Resentment. Jealousy. Hatred.

 

Never sympathy.

 

But what Potter told him. From what he saw with the Boggart, Malfoy had expected his uncle to lash him with the belt once every now and again. Punish him for extreme bad behaviour. It was still unseemly but it wasn't...

 

 _Torture_.

 

They ran.

 

They _had_ to run.

 

They _had_ to fix this.

 

It didn't matter that Potter was Malfoy's enemy. It didn't matter that he hated Potter. Did he? He didn't know. He had always thought he hated Potter but he has never really hated anyone.

 

Not _hated_.

 

Disliked. Detested. Avoided. Condemned. Insulted. Bullied. Berated. Offended. Shunned. Resented. Scorned. Deplored. Annoyed. Feared.

 

Never _hated_.

 

And Malfoy could see it then. It was as clear as day. He had never _hated_ Potter. Sure, he had been jealous. He had been hurt. He had disliked him but underneath all of that there had never been hatred. There had never been that feeling of uncontrollable hatred. There had always been something that stopped him from feeling that. Always something blocking it. Something unknown.

 

And suddenly Malfoy knew what it was.

 

It was love.

 

And fuck did the universe pick a crappy time to tell him.

\--

 

They arrived at Dumbledore's office too late.

 

Their conversation took too long.

 

Dumbledore's magic wasn't fast enough.

 

They didn't run fast enough.

 

Snape didn't realise early enough in the memory.

 

Malfoy didn't realise at all in the conversation.

 

Dumbledore had a hard time believing them.

 

 

 

Overall.

 

 

They were too late.

 

 

And the price they paid was the body of Harry Potter at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower.

Dumbledore levitated the body up up up to the Astronomy floor. Tradition was to leave it in the place it died for a day, he felt Harry truly died before he even jumped.

 

He would have to tell the school tomorrow.

 

Snape walked away from it numb, not believing what he saw. That boy, that boy who he had hated so long hadn't died. He... couldn't have. That boy with Lily's eyes. That boy with Snape's pain. That boy with the world on his shoulders. He and Dumbledore had shared a worried look _What about the prophecy?_ Snape was confused when Malfoy sobbed but thought nothing of it. He couldn't really compete because he was crying over the last of Lily's mistreated resemblance.

 

Snape blamed himself and watched the whole memory.

 

Malfoy sat by the body the whole night, crying silent tears. He had only just realised he loved Potter. He had only just dug through his layers of scorn to reach that feeling. He had only just thought that maybe he didn't have to be so heartless.

 

He was proved wrong.

 

Malfoy sobbed by his still body that night not caring what the teachers thought. Malfoy curled up on himself and thought back onto the conversation. He hadn't seen it. Why the fuck hadn't he seen it?

 

He blamed a lot of things because there were a lot of things to blame.

 

He blamed the Dursleys.

 

He blamed Lupin.

 

He blamed the Boggart.

 

He blamed Dumbledore.

 

He blamed himself.

 

He blamed the whole fucking wizarding world.

 

But most of all he blamed the universe. The fucking universe that tortured Harry, hid Malfoy's feelings, and then showed him at the worst possible moment. Whoever created the place better have a damn good excuse for killing Draco Malfoy's love, because he was sure as hell going to make them pay.

 

If it was god he would kill god. If it was science he would kill science. If it was some fucking giant turtle then he would sure as hell _kill the turtle_. Whoever it was. Whoever fucked with his life was going to pay.

 

Small problem.

 

Malfoy didn't exactly know the secrets of the universe.

\--

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. When I come back from the dead - because I'm cool like that

 

The hall gasped in shock.

 

Dead?

 

No.

 

It can't be.

 

But he's...

 

Wasn't he...

 

He's alive!

 

But he isn't.

 

What can we do?

 

Why did he...

 

The Boggart?

 

But that wasn't...

 

Was it?

 

Fuck.

 

But he's...

 

The hero?

 

The saviour?

 

The...

 

 _hope_.

 

And we can't...

 

Could we have...

 

Is it our...

 

Who's fault?  
  


Should we have...

 

But he's thirteen!

 

Was.

 

And if he's...

 

What about You-Know-Who?  
  


But he's gone...

 

Isn't he?  
  


Did he really kill him as a baby?

 

And if he's back...

 

Fuck.

 

Malfoy broke the silence by walking into the hall face covered in tears. He wore the robes from yesterday. His hair was in disarray. His friends trailed behind him begging him to turn back. Then he said one thing and the hall erupted into chaos.

 

“I loved him.”

\--

 

That night they heard the heart breaking howling of a grim across the lands of the forbidden forest and echoing through the castle.

\--

 

Harry opened his eyes.

 

“You've got to be kidding me.”

 

He was _meant_ to be dead. He _should_ have been dead. He jumped off the fucking _Astronomy Tower_. What the _hell_ was going on?

 

He sat up. He felt stiff.

 

Stiff but very much alive.

 

Why?

 

Harry looked around him.

 

Yep. Definitely not dead. The Astronomy Tower. The dark shiny brick walls that _apparently_ refused to let him die. Maybe there was some sort of enchantment, one that stopped people from jumping or being pushed off.

 

Fucking magic.

 

But... Harry remembered jumping. He remembered the freeing feeling. The numb. The...

 

Shit.

 

He remembered _dying_.

 

Then how is he alive now?

 

Harry stood up. He was... fine. Although... _apparently_ covered in blood.

 

His _own_ blood.

 

Well that didn't make any sense. He was meant to be dead. He had jumped. He had felt the black. He had _saw_ the white. Walked towards it. Floated. Met... someone. Some _woman_. And then...

 

Woke up.

 

It was quite anti-climactic.

 

Was he a ghost?

 

Harry spun slowly around in a circle, taking in everything around him. Looking for... _something_. _Some_ reason to explain his... not-deadness.

 

There.

 

In the corner of his eye.

 

A flash of white.

 

He turned and walked towards it. The light got bigger and soon transformed...

 

Into that woman from his not-deadness-travelling.

 

She had long flowing red hair that reached the floor around her. Her dress was blue, long sleeved, and had dazzling embroidered gold symbols. Runes. Harry could distinguish a couple. Life. Death. Power. Sheep?

 

He wasn't very good at runes.

 

Her lips were soft and her face was fair and enchanting. She looked at him with worried eyes and a confused stare, they were blue and soft. Overall she _looked_ blue and soft.

 

She made Harry want to hug her.

 

He cursed himself in his mind.

 

Oh and lets not forget the wings. The very _big_ wings that stretched three metres either side of her shoulders. They were thin and a pale pink.

 

She was an angel.

 

She spoke. Her voice melodic and calming,

 

“Hello young one... I am sure you have a lot of questions.”

 

Harry said sharply,

 

“Why aren't I dead?”

 

The angel was slightly taken aback by his sharp tone but brushed it off quickly. She said,

 

“You have been given the gift of rebirth based on a loop hole given to you many years ago. Normally the angels do not interfere with life and death but you are different-”

 

“How?”

 

She narrowed her eyes slightly at being interrupted but answered,

 

“Inside you were... two souls. One was foreign and joined out of accident. It was unnatural. We had the option of killing this soul instead of you. To give you a second chance in life and-”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow,

 

“You're telling me, that there were _two souls_ inside me... this whole time! And why? Why did you... 'save' me? I don't want it. Take it back. I'm sure the other soul would much rather live.”

 

She paused,

 

“Well... err... that's not... how it works. Um... You can't...”

 

She cleared her throat, her voice back to its majestic quality,

 

“Young one, you have been granted a gift because your life is thickly entwined with destiny. What you do will effect all of wizard kind. We have granted you a second chance. A way to do things right. And have freed you from this second soul-”

 

Harry asked,

 

“And how will you stop me from ending my life again? I assume this 'gift' was a one time deal. You can't do it twice? I don't want to live any more. How. Will. You. Stop. Me?”

 

She stared for a second,

 

“I err... We err... thought you... _regretted_ it...”

 

Harry chuckled,

  
“Well... Thanks for _that_. I'll be sure to look for you in the afterlife. I suppose I'll just go end my life again.”

 

Then Harry turned and started to walk to the ledge of the Astronomy Tower once more. She shouted in anger,

 

“By the lord of the angels I summon you to _cease your moving_.”

 

Harry stopped.

 

Shit.

 

“By the lord of the angels I summon you a _guardian to heal you_.”  
  


Harry heard the pitter patter of feet on stone.

 

Fuck.

 

“By the lord of the angels I summon you to _live until the next blood moon._ Use my power to bind this promise. Take my angelic magic to stop the attempts to bring him to my world. Use it until I am weak. Until the moon passes.”

 

Then she disappeared.

 

Double fuck.

 

Harry felt her magic run through him, a temporary feeling of joy and love running through him.

 

Then it was gone.

 

He was depressed again. Harry heard the door of the tower open. He felt the magic holding him to the spot end. He turned around dreading what he would see.

 

His guardian.

 

His healer.

 

The one summoned by an angel herself.

 

 _Severus Snape_.

 

“Fuck.”

\--

 

Snape was walking to Potions. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay in bed and mope and weep.

 

That boy was like Lily.

 

He had _Lily's_ eyes.

 

And now he thought he had definitely misjudged him.

 

What he had thought was defiance was fear. What he had thought was arrogance was a feeling of worthlessness. What he had thought was cruel had been kindness. Sneers had been sniffles. Shouts had been terrified cries.

 

The boy who looked like James was nothing like him.

 

It was sadly ironic how like _Snape_ he was.

 

Abused. Depressed. Alone. Hiding behind a mask. A life filled with cruelty and hopelessness. He was also a half-blood and had a hidden intellect.

 

Now that Snape thought about it he was indeed smart.

 

Somehow this child had... prospered. He had found friends and a life and... But he didn't did he? He had been stuck with an impossible mission. He had faced the Dark Lord himself at only eleven. He had faced the scorn and mistrust of his class mates at twelve. Branded a dark wizard. And every year his escape from abuse had been more isolation and depression and hurt.

 

Hope that he would be loved and accepted had been crushed at the realisation that he had more enemies in this new world. That he had more people that hated him. That he had more stress and responsibility.

 

And his home life had been _worse_.

 

Snape couldn't have imagined it. That _Harry Potter_ would have had a worse home life than _him_. His father had beat him. Insulted him. Wounded him beyond measure that even now he only saw his life worthy for someone else.

 

Before it had been for the Dark. Torture. Killing. Betrayal.

 

Now it was for the Light. Spying. Torture. Killing. More Betrayal.

 

Snape didn't see much of a difference between the two. Only that his job in life was to _serve_.

 

But even this came no where near as close to what Harry's life had been like. His mission to kill the unkillable. The sole purpose of his life to be _murder_ since he had been branded at the age of one like cattle. That Dumbledore didn't care for his well-being in the slightest. That all Harry needed to do was to be strong enough to defeat the one that even Dumbledore could not slay.

 

And his home life had been worse. To be locked in a cupboard, starved, beaten, berated...

 

Raped.

 

To steal a child's innocence in the cruellest of manners. To assert how worthless they are. To taint them in that way. To _ruin_ them in that way.

 

Snape had dealt with only one sexual abuse victim in his house. A girl called Dorothy Swingler. Seventh Year. She had come to his classroom and revealed what her boyfriend had done. Then at the end she had told Snape to do nothing. Not to punish. Not to reveal this truth. Not to even save her from him.

 

She had said she deserved it.

 

Snape had told Dumbledore.

 

Dorothy hadn't come to him again.

 

Her boyfriend had been Bill Weasley.

 

Now Snape could not help the feeling of dread that rested icily in his bones. He had not seen it because he had thought that Dumbledore had simply spotted the issue.

 

Now he can remember the faint smell of ash that had surrounded Dorothy a few days after the incident.

 

The smell of an _obliviate_.

 

Dumbledore had done nothing. He had hidden the truth because the Weasleys were a poster family for the Light. They embodied the 'goodness' of magic. They were kind and humble and...

 

_Dumbledore had done nothing._

 

Snape suddenly felt a calling to him. An angelic calling that he could not turn away from. He dropped the book he was carrying and ran as fast as his feet could carry him to the Astronomy Tower.

 

Why was he going there?

  
What was going on?

 

There was a _feeling_ through him. A feeling like he had a new purpose. He had a new mission. He had a new goal. A feeling of warmth that surrounded him like the embrace of a lost friend. A feeling that he could not shake and didn't want to.

 

He was needed.

 

And then he saw Potter running to the ledge.

 

“ _Stupefy._ ”

 

The boy dropped like a stone. The look of determination imprinted on his face. A serenity.

 

Snape stood in shock. His eyes widening. His face paling and body stiffening.

 

_How?_

\--

 

Harry awoke sitting on a small black leather chair in the Headmaster's office. Surrounding him was the Headmaster himself, Professor Snape and Professor Lupin.

 

He sat up and looked around, guilt falling quickly onto him. He noticed the not-so-subtle containment spell surrounding him. He couldn't leave the chair.

 

He said quietly,

 

“So... I'm sure you have some questions.”  
  


Lupin nodded. Snape simply raised an eyebrow, and Dumbledore said,

  
“Yes. To begin with we would like to discuss... How... How you are not dead?”

 

Harry shrugged,

 

“An angel.”

 

The others looked incredulous. Snape spluttered,

 

“What?!”  
  


Harry shrugged again,

 

“An angel said they wanted to give me a second chance. Something about two souls in my body.”  
  


He paused, thinking about what he needed to do,

 

“Well... I'm fine now. Can I go?”

 

Lupin stared with unbridled worry. Dumbledore said gently, as if not to startle him,

 

“No. I'm afraid this is a serious matter. And we have much more to discuss.”  
  


He didn't look as if he was to continue so Harry sighed, shoulders drooping slightly, and said,

 

“Okay. What?”

 

Dumbledore coughed awkwardly and then said,

 

“A few teachers and students have brought worry to me about your home life. What do you have to say on the matter?”  
  


Harry sighed again and said,

  
“My family treats me like a prince. I live in a castle. Everything is fine. Can I go now?”

 

They didn't look convinced.

 

 _Well fuck_ Harry thought _They sure as hell **shouldn't** look convinced._

 

Lupin said quietly,

 

“In class your Boggart was... your uncle and pointed quite obviously to some sort of ab-”

 

Harry interrupted, glaring slightly, he said icily

 

“I'm _afraid_ you must be mistake. Sir. I will have you know my home life is _fine_. Now. If I could please go...”

 

Snape then said,

 

“Draco Malfoy also provided me with a memory that outlined this abuse and a suicidal goodbye speech of some sort given by Mr. Potter himself.”

 

Harry paused.

 

He was an idiot.

 

He had forgotten about the fucking _memory_.

 

Harry said,

 

“Well... that... is... uh... _untrue_. I have done nothing of the sort and the very notion that you would think I was _suicidal_ is quite frankly _disrespectful_.”

 

Snape chuckled darkly and said,

 

“We have _obvious_ evidence of you being suicidal. Your _corpse_ being one.”

 

Harry paused again. Then he said flustered,

 

“Well... I mean... Uh... I...”

 

Dumbledore said calmly,

 

“Mr. Potter, it would seem some _unsettling_ things have come to light. We, the staff and myself, will do our best to remove you from your home situation, however-”  
  


Snape snarled,

 

“ _Headmaster_ , I do not think you understand how _grave_ the situation is. I believe it would be best if we watched the memory. Mr. Potter, under no circumstances, will be returning to his so called family.”

 

Harry said nervously, ignoring the confusing thoughts of why Snape even cared,

 

“That won't be necessary. I think we can all just return to what we were doing and-”

 

Dumbledore ordered,

 

“Get the pensive.”

 

Harry's eyes widened in alarm,

 

“I really think that-”  
  


Snape replied,

 

“Yes Headmaster.”

 

Snape left the room to get the pensive, all the while Harry was sitting there babbling in worry,

 

“I mean... It was a mistake. And I'm the Boy Who Lived its not like my family would treat me with disrespect. You shouldn't even be worrying. This is hugely unnecessary. I'm _fine_ and the notion that I'm suicidal is just silly. So yeah. I did kill myself. _But_ , it was a one time thing and I'm okay now. Its just silly to even-”  
  


Snape returned, an unknown emotion on his face. He said,

 

“The pensive.”  
  


Harry gulped.

 

“I mean its not-”  
  


Lupin and Dumbledore stood and wondered over to the box. Harry stared in alarm,

 

“Its not what it looks like. I... I faked it. Yep. I'm a liar and its untrue and...”

 

They disappeared into the silvery liquid.

 

Fuck.

 

Harry stared in apprehension as their bodies outside the memory seemed to quiver. But why would they quiver?

 

He could only think of a few reasons.

 

Anger.

 

Sadness.

 

Laughter?

 

Would they laugh? Would they find his trials funny? Were they in that memory joking to one another? Did his struggles in life not meet their standards? 'Oh kid, you've been raped, well _whatever_. Quit your complaining. Did you think we'd feel _sorry_ for you? Plus we hate you now 'cause we know you're gay. Also we blame you for the abuse. _And_ you're a freak.'

 

Harry wondered why the voice berating him had an American accent. Did that make him racist? ...Against Americans?

 

He started to fidget in his seat. What would they think? What would they do? What would happen to _him_? Would he go back? Would they blame him? Would they not believe him? Harry couldn't help the nausea that rose in his throat at the thought that they would blame him.

 

But they would...

 

Wouldn't they?  
  


He was a freak. Wasn't he? But how could he believe the Dursleys... They had lied before. About his parents. About his name. About magic.

 

About.

 

Well.

 

Everything.

 

But they had been so _certain_ about this. They had called him 'freak' until the age of six. Said he was unnatural and unworthy. That they did everything for his own good. That his opinions didn't matter and it was his fault.

 

So _why_ didn't he believe them now?  
  


_Why_ was he angry?

 

 _Why_ would he be _even more_ angry if they blamed him?

 

It was his fault.

 

_Wasn't it?_

 

And _why_ did he want no one to know?

 

Sure. It was embarrassing and a little frightening for everyone to find out you were a freak. But Harry had already thought they knew.

 

Deep down they all knew.

 

But that memory was different. What he confessed to Malfoy was a part of his soul. It was a part of who he was. It was _all_ of his darkest secrets layed out like a picnic blanket. It was his hidden hurt there for everyone to see. To gawk at. To point and laugh at his misery. To say 'we always knew there was something wrong with you' or 'I understand what you're going through' or 'We. Don't. Believe. You.'

 

There was some unspoken rule that had always been in Harry's mind. The Dursleys had told him not to tell a soul. That no one would believe him. That they would blame him. That they would simply understand he was a freak. That if he told them they would hunt down and kill him.

 

Harry wasn't afraid of death.

 

Frankly he was annoyed that he was stuck here. He still wanted to die. No matter if an angel had granted him with life. He still felt that looming darkness. That fate. Those memories. That truth. Those other names that were his all the same.

 

Freak.

 

Boy.

 

Mudblood.

 

Dark wizard.

 

Abomination.

 

Bitch.

 

He was also Harry but somehow the name didn't sit right on his tongue. Its as if it were sentient and _knew_ that he had other names. _Better_ names. Names that fit him like a glove.

 

Harry only hoped that his Golden Boy mask would hold and the teachers wouldn't see how broken he was. Who would want to fix him? Who would care? He could only hope that they believed that he was fine. That they didn't see his inner doubts. That they didn't see his darkness.

 

Harry also knew hope was a lie and that right then he should have been plotting his own death in that very office, using there absence to his advantage.

 

Then he remembered the words of the angel.

 

Fuck.

 

He had to survive until the next blood moon.

 

It was _torture_.

 

They would surely find _some_ way to fix him. Some way. That could be anything. Therapy to fancy potions to _obliviate_. What would they do to him? Yet again he hoped they would see what they wanted and not the truth.

 

Harry knew he was only a tool to them. They needed him for some reason they weren't sharing. That was the only way he could understand last year in the Chamber. Dumbledore had _knew_ where he was and sent his bird. Harry had researched phoenixes in his first week back.

 

They could teleport _people_ using their own brand of flame travel. They _did not_ follow someone who praised Hogwarts or whatever Dumbledore had said. They followed _orders_.

 

Instead of _saving him_ , Dumbledore had sent a bird to _aid him in fighting a fucking massive snake_!

 

Harry knew he was their tool. Harry knew he didn't belong to himself. And he knew the hope that he had used to have that this world would be nicer than his last was short lived.

 

Harry hadn't belonged to himself for a long time and he wasn't about to start now.

 

But the difference here was he had a choice. He _could_ end his life. He _could_ stop himself from being their tool. He _could_ belong to _himself_.

 

So what if his only way of doing that was death.

 

The teachers left the memory. Shock on their faces.

 

Tears struck Lupin's. Anger flashed on Snape's. Cold indifference consumed Dumbledore.

 

They weren't laughing then.

 

Harry thought it was too late to pretend to be asleep.

 

Fucking angels!

_\--_

 

Lupin didn't know what to think. From what he had seen in class he had expected _some_ sort of abuse. Perhaps a belting here or there.

 

Not acceptable.

 

But something people might not have been seen.

 

What he heard in the memory shattered the very ideas his life was built on. It ruined who he was. It destroyed his ideals.

 

It. Wrecked. Him.

 

There were certain things he had always believed.

 

Light was good.

 

Dumbledore was right and caring.

 

Dark was bad. Be it spells or the people that cast them.

 

Muggles were relatively harmless. They couldn't do much damage and they loved their own.

 

His whole world view had been shattered. Hearing what those _disgraces to existence_ had done to his cub. His furry ball of love. His student. His brother in all but blood's heir and son and love and life.

 

It made him tempted to let out his inner wolf.

 

Torture.

 

That was the only name that could come to his head.

 

Fucking torture.

 

They had _ruined_ his cub. They had beaten him. They had drilled _lies_ into his head. They had _worked him like a slave_. They had _made him believe he was a freak_. They had _destroyed_ his childhood and _used_ him.

 

And they had _**raped**_ him.

 

An unspeakable sin. One that could never be fixed. Stealing something that wasn't theirs. Violating one of the most basic boundaries ever known. Destroying someone.

 

And _four times_.

 

Lupin had just stared at that boy in that memory. The one he didn't know if he had ever known at all. Silent tears had flown like rivers down his cheeks.

 

He should have known.

 

Then he had turned to Dumbledore beside him. Thinking to see the same anguish on his face. And what Lupin had seen only boiled his rage more.

 

He looked _slightly annoyed_.

 

The fucking sociopath!

 

How could he just stand there listening to that boy reveal his heart and soul and look _slightly annoyed_? It was unthinkable. It was a crime in and of it self. And that _expression_ (if you could even dignify it with such a title) led to Lupin's next dangerous train of thought.

 

He. Had. Known.

 

This had rocked his entire world. Dumbledore. The sworn protector. The leader of the light. The heart of all that was good. The kind grandfather. The one who didn't care about blood or creature status.

 

The one who was good.

 

That _man_ had just stood there, staring impassively, absorbing the information. He hadn't cared. And Lupin _blamed him_ for Harry's horrible existence. He had put Harry there. He had taken _his_ cub out of _his_ grasp and placed him with _monsters_. Monsters worse than werewolves. Monsters worse than creeping shadows in the night. Darkness that enveloped the world and sucked away joy.

 

Worse than dementors.

 

Worse than Voldemort.

 

Worse than death.

 

To be placed with those _monsters_.

 

Lupin's gaze had turned predatory.

 

Dumbledore would pay. And those muggles. And the whole fucking world if he had anything to say about it.

\--

 

Snape was the first one to speak. He said icily, his voice coated in anger,

 

“It would seem, Mr. Potter, that there is an _abundance_ of evidence. Would you care to talk now?”

 

Harry said weakly,

 

“I have the right to an attorney?”

 

All but Snape looked confused. He quickly explained,

 

“Its the muggle term for legal representative council.”

 

Harry suddenly looked more confident in his idea, he decided to run with it,

 

“Well... yes... I mean this is simply slander! You _unlawfully_ watch that memory and make _assumptions_ about my home life. This is a degradation of character. I could sue you! And now I think the best decision would be to release me and... let me... and talk amongst yourselves.”

 

Snape snorted,

 

“I don't think it would be wise to take legal advice from a _thirteen year old_.”

 

Dumbledore sighed,

 

“Well I suppose we could.”  
  


Everyone in the room looked shocked. Harry looked hopeful. Dumbledore continued,

 

“Of course, whilst we discuss you will most probably need to be sent back to your family. If all things are as you say they are then you will need to organise legal aid with them.”

 

Harry paled considerably. Lupin snarled,

 

“ _NO!_ How _dare_ you threaten him like this? Don't you think he's been through enough? How could you even _suggest_ he return, even if you are simply using it to _manipulate_ him into staying?”

 

Then the werewolf crouched down beside Harry, catching his eye, he said softly,

 

“Harry, I promise you will never have to go back there. I will never _let_ you go back there.”

 

Harry nodded numbly, unsure how to react to the sudden kindness. Snape coughed awkwardly, breaking the silence,

 

“Uh... _okay then_. I would have to agree with Lupin on this one. Mr. Potter shall not be allowed to rejoin his family on any account-”

 

Dumbledore interrupted,

 

“Surely the blood wards should be-”

 

Snape said sharply, sending Dumbledore an evil glare,

 

“On _any_ account.”  
  


Dumbledore still looked conflicted,

 

“We can set up security measures to stop the Dursleys from-”

 

Lupin stood, hackles raised, and snarled again,

 

“ _NEVER AGAIN WILL HE RETURN THERE I CANNOT BELIVE_ -”

 

Lupin was interrupted by a small almost unnoticeable cough. Everyone stopped to stare at Harry. The child said softly,

 

“As I was saying. I... You have no proof and I think it would be wise if...”

 

He stopped when Snape started to laugh loudly. His eyes wide he said,

  
“No proof? You've _got_ to be kidding me. We have the memory, in said memory is a _full_ confession and _reveal_ of injuries. Then we have the boggart. And of course the effects the abuse had caused. Your _not attempted but successful suicide_. I mean... I don't even understand what case you are trying to plead or _why_.”

 

Harry said gruffly,

 

“I just want _out of this chair_ and to be able to...”  
  


He stopped.

 

What _did_ he want?  
  


Harry couldn't die until the next blood moon. Whenever that was. And that was the only thing he really wanted out of life. It was quite ironic really.

 

The group sat back down as Harry was thinking. He ended with a weak,

 

“I don't know yet. But... something.”

 

Dumbledore coughed, regaining the groups attention, and said stiffly,

 

“As it seems quite _clear_ that Mr. Potter will not be returning to his relatives we must discuss actions to what we will do about his _other_ situation.”

 

Harry asked,

 

“Other situation?”

 

Dumbledore sighed,

 

“The fact that you are suicidal. It must be addressed and you must be assigned a therapist or mind healer of some sort.”  
  


Harry stiffened considerably.

 

The others could understand.

 

Snape felt a calling. He felt a calling deep inside his bones. The angelic feeling from earlier rising inside him, taking control of his body. He felt happy to let it.

 

“I volunteer.”  
  


Then he felt crazy.

 

Then the others looked at him as if he were crazy. Lupin choked on the air he was so casually breathing,

 

“Uh... what? Did I... _mishear_ you?”

 

Snape found himself shaking his head and repeating,

 

“I volunteer.”

 

A familiar twinkle had entered Dumbledore's eye. As if that had been some missing piece of the puzzle. He said smugly,

 

“So _that's_ settled.”  
  


Harry said in shock,

 

“Wait _what_?”

 

Snape _did not_ just become his angel chosen, mind healer, guardian.

 

He just _didn't_.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. When I endure an amateur "therapist" - because Dumbledore is a crackpot

“This is very childish you know.”  
  


Harry simply crossed his arms and glared.

 

“Very childish _indeed_. I don't want to be doing this just as much as you, but we may as well make the best of this.”

 

Harry's eyes widened and he spluttered,

 

“You _volunteered_! I was there. We _are not_ in the same boat. And I don't need therapy anyway!”

 

Snape raised an eyebrow,

 

“You _successfully_ killed yourself. Or have you forgotten?”  
  


Harry scowled, all the while mumbling things like 'lack of evidence' 'ridiculous' 'not really successful because I'm alive now' and 'it was a one time thing'.

 

Snape simply smirked.

 

“Now. You can sit there and act like an impotent brat or we can start therapy.”

 

Harry sneered,

 

“I _am not_ acting like a brat! I just don't see the point in this. _You_ don't even like me. _I_ don't want to be here. This. Is. Stupid.”

 

Snape lifted an eyebrow,

 

“Not a brat, eh?”

 

Harry nodded,

 

“Not a brat.”

 

Snape leaned back in his chair and brought out a piece of parchment. He started to scribble neatly with his quill. Harry paused.

 

“What are you writing?”

 

Snape sighed, not looking up from his sheet, and said sarcastically

 

“Certainly nothing pertaining to this therapy session. I mean it would just be ridiculous for me to do my job.”

 

Harry spluttered angrily,

 

“Stop writing about me!”

 

Snape continued to write. Murmuring quietly under his breath 'low self esteem' and 'brat'. Harry simply gaped,

 

“I haven't even _said_ anything!”

 

Snape snorted, placed his quill down beside him, and said,

 

“It would _seem_ I am going _quite_ mad then, because _I could swear_ that you just _said_ 'I haven't said anything'.”

 

Harry shook his head indignantly, crossed his arms and pouted. Snape took on a gentle tone,

 

“Now... _Harry_ , why do you disagree so much to this therapy session?”

 

Harry stared at him like he was mad.

 

Snape waited.

 

One minute.

 

Then another.

 

The minutes passed, meshing together into a block of time, and they stared at one another. As if silently digging into each other's souls. Digging their own graves inside one another. Sealing their fates. Letting themselves be vulnerable at the eyes of one another, likely to be killed by the other's penetrating gaze.

 

Harry lost the staring match and finally looked away. He said grumpily,

 

“Can I go now?”

 

Snape simply sighed and said,

 

“I'm afraid you aren't allowed to be alone without an adult, you must have someone with you at all times due to your suicidal tendencies. And since the adults are currently busy, all except me, I believe you need to stay here. As well as the fact that this session is no where near over.”

 

Harry huffed, his gaze now downcast. He pondered the possibility of telling Snape that he _just couldn't die_ and that he didn't need a baby sitter at all points of the day. Harry decided against it; he needed all the leverage he could get.

 

Harry was determined to sit in stony silence for the rest of the session, but Snape soon started battering him with questions.

 

“So, Harry, can you tell me why you wanted to kill yourself?”

 

Silence.

 

“Would you like to talk about your home life?”

 

Silence.

 

“What about your friends, how are Weasley and Granger?”

 

Silence.  
  
“How are you going in your classes?”

 

Silence.

 

“And... How are you coping with the threat of your godfather? I'm sure it must be worrying.”

 

Silence.

 

“Is there _anything_ you would like to talk about?”  
  
Silence.

 

“Perhaps the headmaster?”

 

Silence.

 

“Malfoy, your rival?”

 

Silence.

 

“What about your parents?”

 

Harry finally broke.

 

“Would you just _shut up_! I don't want to talk to you. _You_ hate me. _Everyone_ hates me. I _do not_ want to talk. _Can't_ you get that through your thick skill of yours?? _Can't_ you understand it?”

 

Snape let out a breath and said,

 

“Harry, everyone _does not_ hate you. _I_ do not hate you. I may have had a slight grudge against your father that got out of control. But, now that I'm your therapist I have moved those residual feelings away. Now. _Why_ do you not want to talk?”

 

Harry glared at him. Seeing if he could simply set Snape on fire with his gaze.

 

Then he had a plan.

  
“You know I really don't like you.”  
  


Snape lifted an eyebrow.

 

“You're ugly and mean and your hair looks like you poured sick onto it. You're a terrible teacher, and I'm sure my father never did anything wrong. You seem like just the type to make it all up. And my _mother_ she probably hated you too. What was it they called you? _Snivellus_ was it? It seems pretty fitting really.”

 

Harry waited to see if his words had made any reaction. Snape simply sighed and said,

 

“If you want to talk about how much you hate me we can do that.”

 

Harry stared for a moment.

 

Was that a free pass?

 

“Well, like I said before you're a terrible teacher. You never teach me anything useful and you're always insulting me. Of course I understand you're jealous, right?”

 

Nothing.

 

“And don't even get me started on your favouritism towards Slytherins. They're _always_ in the wrong, you know? You're a disgrace to them. Never thought one Slytherin could be worse than another but you _really made me rethink that_.”

 

Snape replied,

 

“Go on. Say what you want.”

 

Harry started to get angry,

 

“Why don't you care??? I've been insulting you and you _don't even care_! What's the point? Why? You're just... sitting there. I don't understand you. First you hate me for no reason and now I'm giving you a _legitimate reason_ and you don't even have the balls to fight back. Huh? Do you just not care about yourself at all? Do you hate yourself _so much_ that you don't care _at all_ about what I have to say? Or is it me? Do you simply not care about what _I_ have to say? Do you think you're above it?”

 

“You're words are important, Harry, I simply think its important that you get these things off your chest. It wouldn't be very productive for me to start a fight when you are meant to be in therapy.”

 

Harry simply stared at him before he realised something. He said gruffly,

 

“Don't call me that.”

 

Snape paused.

 

“Harry? Don't call you 'Harry'?”

 

Harry nodded,

 

“Just... don't.”

 

Snape eyed him critically,

 

“And _why_?”

 

Harry didn't have anything to say. He _couldn't_ tell Snape. He _couldn't_ explain why.

 

He _couldn't._

 

Harry shrugged. Snape said,

 

“Okay. What should I call you?”  
  
Harry paused again.

 

Not Harry.

 

Not Potter.

 

Not... Freak.

 

What other name was there?

 

“Nothing.”

 

Snape let out a breath,

 

“And why should I call you nothing?”

 

Harry looked up, an unknown emotion spilling clumsily from his face,

 

“Because there's nothing left any more.”

 

Snape took another breath,

 

“Alright, and what do you mean by that?”

 

Harry looked puzzled.

 

“What do I mean by what?”

 

“That there is nothing left any more.”

 

Harry stared in confusion. As if what he had said was as obvious as the colour of his hair. He said softly,

 

“Well... there's nothing left.”  
  


“And what does that mean?”

 

“Well... I've run out of names. That's one thing.”

 

Snape raised an eyebrow,

 

“Run out of names?”  
  


“Well you can't call me Harry. You can't call me Potter. You can't call me fre- (cough) Can't call me anything. So nothing is fine. Just... when you speak to me just I don't know... point or something?”

 

Snape nodded,

 

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

 

Harry shook his head,

 

“I really don't want to talk. Can't we just sit in silence?”  
  


Snape paused, as if thinking things over, before he said,

 

“I guess for this first session you may. Just to get acquainted. But in the next one it is imperative we start proper therapy.”  
  
Harry just shrugged.

 

That session they sat in an eerie silence, that was somehow too welcomed.

\--

 

To say the school was confused would have been an understatement. They were _very_ confused, confuddled, angered, puzzled, slightly afraid but most of all...

 

Confused.

 

Was Harry Potter ever really dead?

 

Did he really commit suicide?

 

Or... _try_ to?

 

Or was it faked?

 

Did he fake his death?

 

But why?

 

Attention?

 

Pity?

 

Tears?

 

To see who cared?  
  


But if he _did_ die then _how_ did he come back?

 

What the hell?

 

At just that moment, a few seconds after the announcement, the man himself walked into the hall. Staring intently at the ground. Shoulders slumped. The very picture of defeat. He went over to the Griffindor table to sit, Hermione instantly enveloped him in a hug. Saying sweet nothings and gentle reassurances.

 

Ron.

 

Fucking.

 

Weasley.

 

Was _not_ so understanding.

 

He was jealous. The green eyed monster taking up two thirds of his personality. And he didn't understand mental illness. He didn't want to. And he didn't want to understand his 'friend' either.

 

Ron was an idiot.

 

He snarled,

 

“So, _Potter_ , I cannot believe you would actually _fake_ _ **suicide**_ because you wanted more glory!”

 

The hall stared.

 

What would their fabled hero do?

 

Harry stood.

 

A look of confusion and betrayal on his features, before he schooled them to boredom and blankness. A sea of nothingness.

 

The hall was silent. A deathly silence falling like a sheet of snow over them.

 

One word.

 

“Wait.”

 

The hall paused. As soundless as sight. Harry's voice echoed through the room.

 

“You aren't...”  
  


They waited for him to finish.

 

“You aren't being _serious_ are you?”

 

Ron paused. As well as the rest of the room. Harry's calm was unsettling. His calculated gaze sending shivers through people's bodies. Even the Slytherins were finding it hard to stay collected.

 

Harry's eyes narrowed,

 

“So you think...”  
  


He let out a cold dark chuckle. A first year seemed to whimper. Harry's expression changed to one of dark amusement. Dumbledore was not enjoying this.

 

“You think that I _killed myself_ for attention?”

 

Ron gulped. He let a wave of jealousy wash over him. Harry always forgave him. He could do what he wanted. And right now he was just pointing out the truth.

 

Why else would he still be alive?

 

“Well you only faked it! You _did_ do it for attention. Why else would you fake your own suicide?”  
  


Harry stared, the faint upwards curling of his lips almost invisible.

 

Another chuckle.

 

Then a cold hard unwavering gaze. It sent ice through Ron's spine. It made him sit down and he realised with consuming terror what he had just done.

 

“Well. I _have_ been wondering about your loyalties of late. I _have_ been going through some times in my past. I _have_ been thinking that perhaps, oh just maybe, our friendship was set up.”  
  


His words were quiet. If the hall wasn't so silent, one wouldn't have been able to hear him.

 

Harry turned to look around the hall.

 

“Doesn't it seem _strange_ to anyone that a pure-blood family, no matter their status, _completely_ ignored the Statute of Secrecy? That a _wizarding family_ called out along Platform 9 and ¾ that they were entering a magical world through a barrier. And to think that one of them works in the Ministry of Magic, in the _muggle_ department.”  
  


Harry paused, letting it sink in.

 

“Doesn't it seem _strange_?”

 

Harry turned back to Ron, his eyes like knives. Sharp and swift.

 

“I seem to remember a certain conversation on the train of the Hogwarts Express. _Excuse me, do you mind, everywhere else is full._ ”

 

Harry lifted an eyebrow,

 

“ _Really_? I seem to remember walking past _multiple_ empty carriages. Either Mr. Weasley, here, is very dim or _he went looking for me_.”

 

Harry's gaze moved across the hall,

 

“My best friend, apparently, thinks I _love_ attention. That I bask in it. That I need the glory. That I can't get enough. That I love to risk my life every fucking year at this school.”

 

He paused again, his words only just above a whisper, but travelling across the whole hall.

 

“He thinks my _suicide_ was to get _attention_.”

 

Another chuckle.

 

More shivers.

 

Harry's gaze turned sinister,

 

“We. Are. Over. I've had enough of your petty jealousy and your delusions. I've had enough of being manipulated. And most of all...”

 

He started to walk out of the hall, the silence still suffocating, and shouted,

 

“I've had enough of this fucking life!”

 

Professor Sprout discretely followed after him.

 

Bloody babysitters.

\--

 

 

Harry stood in the hall brooding. Fucking Hogwarts! And now everyone was going to hate him and call him a dark wizard or something. Probably say he's in league with Old Voldy. And to make matters worse he still felt the darkness hanging over him. Suffocating him. That sadness and despair and anger and the only thing left of him was the want to end it all.

 

But that angel made it _quite_ impossible.

 

Fucking magic!

 

Harry was perfectly content just to stand and brood alone in the hallway but then _someone_ just had to some and ruin it.

 

A particular blonde haired Slytherin to be exact.

 

Draco Sodding Malfoy.

 

Malfoy walked up to him, a shy tentative expression playing across him. Harry raised an eyebrow,

 

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

 

Harry saw the blonde gulp. Nervous. Why?

 

“I... uh...”

 

Malfoy stuttered. Now that was just _not right_. Malfoy never stuttered. He was clean and sharp and precise. He was from an elegant pure-blood family. He was witty and always seemed to have one over Harry. Always seemed to have a smart remark.

 

This was just unnatural.

 

Harry sighed,

 

“Yes?”

 

The blonde blushed.

 

Blushed?

 

What the hell was going on? Malfoy didn't blush, and certainly not in the presence of Harry. This had to be some kind of conspiracy. Some kind of freaky mind game. Or maybe there was some sort of job that Malfoy filled whereas whenever everyone else liked him Malfoy hated him, and whenever anyone else hated him Malfoy liked him.

 

Crazy wizards?!

 

He still didn't speak and Harry was starting to get impatient. Harry lifted his arms in exasperation and snapped,

 

“What!”

 

Malfoy looked to the ground and mumbled something. Harry cupped a hand over his ear and said,

 

“Sorry, come again?”

 

Malfoy looked up, a courage that no Slytherin should have in his eyes, and said,

 

“I'm in love with you.”

 

Harry just stared.

 

Broken.

 

Confused.

 

_What?_

 

How could...

 

But no...

 

Malfoy didn't...

 

Enemies.

 

Rivals.

 

Hatred.

 

Fear.

 

Antagonistic possibly homicidal tendencies.

 

Desire?  
  


Love?  
  


No.

 

Fucking.

 

Way.

 

“Huh?”

 

Malfoy blinked,

 

“I'm uh... in love with you.”  
  


Harry squinted his eyes, stared with a passion,

 

“What?”  
  


Malfoy repeated,

 

“I love you.”

 

Harry blinked.

 

He blinked again.

 

He blinked a third time.

 

Malfoy.

 

Was.

 

Still.

 

There.

 

“I don't... What?”  
  


“I love you.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I love you.”

 

“Whaaaaaa?”

 

“I love you.”  
  


“But... _Huh_?”

 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, leaned in close and...

 

Whispered,

 

“I'll let you in on a little secret.”  
  
Harry nodded. Breath catching in his throat with how close Malfoy was.

 

He waited.

 

Drew in the suspense.

 

Looked around the empty corridor.

 

And said in the lowest voice possible,

 

“I...”

 

He looked around again, as if holding a deep secret. Harry held his breath.

 

What was he going to say?

 

“Love you.”

 

Harry nodded. Slid slightly away from Malfoy so they weren't so...

 

Close.

 

And his heart didn't...

 

Beat to fast.

 

And the air didn't...

 

Stick to the back of his throat.

 

And he...

 

Was...

 

_Thirteen._

 

Suicidal.

 

And most definitely _not_ in love with his arch rival.

 

Harry cleared his throat,

 

“Okaaaay... Err... Um...”

 

Malfoy said,

 

“If you say 'what' on more time I swear to god I will hex you into oblivion.”

 

Harry nodded.

 

 _This_ was the _normal_ Malfoy.

 

He cleared his throat again, as if something sticky was stuck there.

 

“Well... Thanks for uh... Letting me know...”

 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow,

 

“Do you love me to? Do you want to kiss or something?”

 

Harry blanched.

 

“Um... How can I say this? I uh... don't know.”

 

Malfoy nodded, his face contemplative. Harry squeaked,

 

“Why?”

 

Malfoy shrugged,

 

“When you gave me the memory and I went to Snape and he said you were suicidal I realised I loved you all along. I don't know why.”

 

Harry nodded again, slightly slower, as if the air was too thick.

 

“I think... Um... Nice chat... Well... I'll be going.”

 

Malfoy smiled.

 

A genuine.

 

Malfoy.

 

Smile.

 

If Harry wasn't in another universe before he certainly was then.

 

Harry waved.

 

Like an idiot.

 

Malfoy just looked like a puppy.

 

A _love_ struck puppy.

 

Harry was unsure whether he was revolted, intrigued or more suicidal.

 

The blonde eventually said,

  
“Good speech in the hall by the way. If you need somewhere to stay because the Griffindors kick you out feel free to come to the Slytherin dorms.”  
  


Then he smiled a...

 

 _Seductive_?

 

Shit.

 

Seductive smile.

 

And said,

 

“Or just _my_ dorm.”

 

Then Malfoy turned around and headed back to the Great Hall, a giddy smile on his face.

 

Harry stared.

 

Did Malfoy just... _profess his love for him_?

 

Fucking universe!

 

 

 


	4. When I make new friends and quit life - because those two aren't mutually exclusive

 

Griffindor was shunning him.

 

They actually had the nerve to _shun him_ for being _suicidal_. Un-fucking-believable. They wouldn't talk to him. Wouldn't look at him. Would go quiet when he was near, as if the air had somehow frozen around him, as if a Dementor's touch hung there. Whispers followed him around corners and in dark alcoves. Stares and glares sat behind him, always just out of sight, like a second shadow. Eyes like footsteps, always close.

 

It was weird and made him feel more broken to know who his real friends were.

 

Even Hermione had forsaken him after seeing the house's reaction. The age old question of whether she liked Ron better was answered. She did. She didn't care for him any more. None of them did. They blamed him. Blamed him for something he didn't even know was wrong. And they thought he was sick. As if a darkness was hanging over him like rotten mistletoe. That he chose that escape. That he still wanted to (and he did) and that it was his fault.

 

Always his fault.

 

_Here that bitch this is all your fault._

 

Neville.

 

Neville was the only one that had stuck by him. He hadn't cared about the scorn of the house. He hadn't cared about what his 'friends' would have thought. He hadn't cared about any of it.

 

Harry had been in the common room, brooding, sulking, contemplating if his parents would have been proud of him. If they would have loved him if they had lived. If they were watching over him. If they would have thought he was a freak.

 

Then Neville had sat by him, the silence had been deafening. The shocked looks and hateful glances. The nervous twitches and spiteful sneers.

 

Griffindor.

 

_For the next seven years your house will be like your family._

 

Too right. Fucking bastards.

 

But Neville had stood (or sat) by him. Watching the flickering flames of the common room as Harry came back to himself. As Harry realised he had a friend. As Harry had a painful twinge of hope in his gut.

 

Neville had spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, still looking into the flames. Not daring to meet his eyes.

 

“My gran always said I was a squib when I was younger. That my parents wouldn't have been proud, that they were rolling in their graves. You know, I had an uncle that tried to kill me. Four times. The first was when I was four. I hadn't shown any signs of accidental magic. He _accidentally_ toppled a bookshelf near me. My magic didn't kick in but my self preservation did. I crawled to safety.”

 

The rest of the common room carried on, not hearing Neville's confession. The only one hearing it was Harry.

 

“The second time was when I was six. My family has always been into Herbology. We run a plant supply company. Those deadly plants that produce such important potion ingredients are heavily farmed by us. We have dozens of greenhouses. The one with the deadliest plants was Greenhouse 2. They were carnivorous. Only heavily trained Herbologists went anywhere near it. I was six. My uncle left me in there for two hours.”

 

A gulp.

 

A breath.

 

New facts came to light.

 

“What can I say? It wasn't magic. The plants just liked me.”

 

Had Harry known Neville at all?

 

“The next time was when I was eight. Me, my uncle and my gran had visited the beach near Saint Mungos. We had visited my parents. They got injured in the war and are residents there permanently. My gran decided it would be fun to take us out to the pier. I was hanging by dock, staring out to sea, thinking about them, when suddenly I felt myself be pushed in.”

 

Another deep breath, a look of internal struggle on Neville's face, as if he didn't know if he wanted to continue.

 

“Luckily a muggle came and saved me before I drowned. When I came out of the water I expected my gran to come and comfort me, to tell my uncle off... Instead she just stared through cold eyes and told me we needed to go home. She had known. She had known that my uncle was trying. She hadn't stopped him. She would have rathered me dead than a squib. That was the day I knew that no one truly cared about me.

 

“The last time was when I was nine. My family was getting desperate. If you didn't have signs at nine you were a squib. That was how magic worked. They thought that if they pushed me enough, if they hurt me enough, if they triggered it enough, then my magic would come to my aid. And they were right. They were. It saved me in the end. When he pushed me out that window and he told me that I was better off dead than if I had no magic. When he told me that my parents would have hated me. When he told me that my gran couldn't bare to look at me. When he told me that every time he had tried to get my magic to trigger he hadn't really wanted it there. My uncle told me that ever since I was four he had wanted me dead.

 

“I believed him.”

 

Harry hadn't moved his gaze from the fire either. Numb from events. Numb from that _want_ to be gone. Numb from everything life had thrown at him. Numb from the realisation that he only had one friend and he still didn't deserve him. Numb from how Neville had grown up. Numb at how Harry felt jealous, vindictive, evil, sadistic, depressed, angry...

 

Numb because Harry hadn't known how he felt.

 

“When I got into Hogwarts my gran smiled at me. She said she was proud. That my parents would have been proud. That I wasn't such a waste of space after all. That she had been worried for nothing...

 

“That she loved me.”

 

A choked breath.

 

“And no one had ever told me that they loved me. And then she had handed me that remembrall and told me 'keep it safe'. And I had got to Hogwarts with that remembrall held tightly in my hand and I had been so happy, because if I was at Hogwarts that meant I wasn't a failure like I had always been. And I had never had any friends. And I had never had anyone look out for me. And Hogwarts was the place to change that.

 

“So, when people didn't seem to like me I took it hard. But there was always one person that smiled at me. You. Harry, you always said hello. Every time you saw me you waved, greeted me, let me know I was... Maybe your friend. You had always done that... Until a week ago when... It happened. But you had basically been the only one to care about me at all.

 

“And on that first flying lesson when you had... _stood up for me_. When I had heard that you had fought Malfoy for _me_ and _my_ remembrall. That you had _risked yourself_ for _my welfare_. I hadn't believed it at first. I had thought it had just been the rumour mill. But when I asked you and you goddamn _blushed_ and said it was nothing. Harry. You have no idea how much that had meant to me.

 

“And last year, when the whole Heir of Slytherin thing was going on, and everyone was concerned with themselves I _may_ have had a bit of a breakdown. I _may_ have become slightly depressed. And my gran _may_ have told me, in a letter, that she wished I was dead. And do you remember? Do you even remember what you did? Do you remember what you asked me?”

 

Harry had shook his head slightly. Neville cracked a wary smile, almost hysterical, as he still stared at the fire,

 

“You had... asked me... if I had wanted to hang out. If I had wanted to play you in a game of wizarding chess. Harry, I believe you have been the only person to have ever cared about me and you didn't even notice.”

 

Harry had vaguely remembered seeing Neville looking lonely and inviting him to a game of Wizards Chess. Neville had let out a chuckle.

 

“It had just been in your nature, to look out for everyone, to care of everyone, that you hadn't seen what an impact you had had on me. That you hadn't known that everything you have done for me is more than anyone had ever done. And you had done it for nothing, for no reason, for no one, but me.”

 

Neville had sniffed slightly, as if holding back tears. Then after a few moments he had let out a bitter chuckle.

 

“You've had a sucky life. If you suddenly turned into the new dark lord I wouldn't exactly blame you! Hell. I'd even join you. Where do I sign up? But what this house is doing, _school_ is doing. Its despicable. Harry, you killed yourself. You died. You _are_ suicidal. And they think you're doing this for attention! They're nuts. Absolutely nuts. And _I don't care_ that if I associate with you then I'm going to be blacklisted because it _doesn't bloody matter_ at all.

 

“Harry, I don't care. I'm your friend... If you'll have me. And I think this house is full of a bunch of cowards! Because they would rather leave you alone to save themselves than come to your aid. You need me. I know you do. You need _someone_. And I can't believe that Weasley and Granger have ditched you, but I don't give a damn. You need a friend so I'm being one. It is the moral of Griffindor to do 'what is right and not what is easy' and right now, sticking with you, is the rightest thing to do I could ever do.”

 

Neville had finally turned to him. And he may have had tears on his face. And Harry may have had bags under his eyes. And may have been too pale. And too defeated. And too bloody skinny. But both of them had ignored this as Neville grinned and said,

 

“So, what do you say, friends?”

 

Harry had hugged him.

 

It had meant so much Harry could have cried.

 

 

 

Ron was spreading rumours about him.

 

Sickly sickly rumours.

 

_Harry lied._

 

_He's dark._

 

_He tried to kill me._

 

_He's lying about his relatives._

 

_He tried to rape my sister._

 

_Harry's jealous of me._

 

_I know what he's like, he used to be my best friend._

 

_Neville's dark too._

 

_They're in cahoots._

 

_He was the heir of Slytherin._

 

_Harry killed Quirrel._

 

_He threatened me._

 

_He set his snake on me._

 

_Never seen it? He has a snake._

 

_Harry's got the Mark._

 

_He was meant to be in Slytherin._

 

_He attacked Dumbledore._

 

_He's not really suicidal, it was a scam._

 

_He's spoilt and ungrateful._

 

_Harry's rich but he gives me nothing._

 

And they believed him.

 

_I heard he killed his parents._

 

_I heard he was darker than You-Know-Who._

 

_Ron would know, he was his best mate._

 

_Did you see how he was looking at me?_

 

_Rumour is that he gave Ron's baby sister a love potion._

 

_I heard he hurts people._

 

_Did he threaten you? He threatened me._

 

_Even Dumbledore's scared of him, says he's the next Dark Lord._

 

_Granger told me. She would know._

 

_I heard he put a spell on Weasley._

 

_I heard he was evil._

 

_I heard he had a snake._

 

_I heard..._

 

Harry didn't know if he believed them. Where the truths began and the lies ended. If there was such thing as a truth and a lie. All his life had been lies.

 

Freak.

 

Magic isn't real.

 

You're famous.

 

It was a car accident.

 

You're the hero.

 

Never a wizard that didn't go bad that was in Slytherin.

 

_You'll do well in Slytherin._

 

Dumbledore will protect you.

 

“ _I can't go back to my relatives.”_

 

“ _You must. The blood wards need replenishing.”_

 

“ _Please sir!”_

 

“ _Harry, my boy, sacrifices must be made. No matter how much you dislike your relatives they do love you. Its for the best. The Greater Good. You must forfill your duty. You wouldn't want to let me down would you?”_

 

“ _I'll go sir.”_

 

Just like your father.

 

Your house will be like your family.

 

_Your house will be your family for the next seven years._

 

Your family.

 

_Your family._

 

_**Your family.** _

 

Harry was sick of lies. Harry was sick of deception. Harry was sick of being used. Harry just wanted to die, why couldn't they let him? Harry didn't want to hear the rumours. The whispers. Harry didn't want to be sneered at. Threatened. Harry didn't want to fear. Harry wanted it to end. Harry wanted to quit.

 

Harry...

 

Wanted to quit.

 

He stood behind Wood, arms hanging limply by his side, the house steadfastly ignoring him.

 

_He wanted to quit._

 

“Wood. I quit the Quidditch team. Find a new seeker.”

 

The captain stared wide eyed as the too small raven celebrity walked monotomously towards a chubby brown haired boy, and out of the Great Hall. At the exit he turned, eyes flashing in danger. He called,

 

“I hereby renounce Griffindor House. I am not longer a Griffindor. Find a new scapegoat. Find a new hero. Find a new Harry. I quit. I'll be sleeping with the elves.”

 

And with that he turned and walked out of the hall. Later he would ignore the manipulative words of Dumbledore, and slight compulsion charm, and do just that. Sleep with the elves.

 

Silence.

 

_He quit?_

 

But he couldn't. He was Harry Potter. Griffindor. Youngest Seeker of the century. Defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at only a baby. Son of Lily and James. One a bookworm. One a marauder. He was a liar, but he was _their_ liar.

 

The next morning when Harry Potter entered the hall, with Neville his unlikely friend by his side, he walked over to the Slytherin table and took a seat. Neville was the one who spoke,

 

“I hereby denounce Griffindor... as well. Seeya.”

 

Then he sat by Harry as they ate.

 

Silence.

 

Again.

 

Draco smiled and sat next to him. Harry blushed slightly, not meeting his flirtatious gaze. Everyone else felt very out of the loop. Draco said quietly,

 

“How was sleeping with the elves?”

 

Harry turned to look at him shyly, his mind in turmoil. He shouldn't like him. He was just another man. Another one to hurt him. He shouldn't want to be hurt like that. To be loved. Harry was a freak.

 

He shouldn't like another boy.

 

“Would it be okay to stay in Slytherin?”

 

By the glares of the other house mates they thought it certainly _wouldn't_ be okay to stay in Slytherin. Draco simply smiled, his heart bubbling under the surface. Harry was willing to give him a shot.

 

“You can stay in my dorm.”

 

Arguments from the other dorm mates were cut off by Draco's death stare. Harry simply scuffled his feet under the table and ate another mouthful of porridge. Should he care about his own moral code if he wasn't meant to be caring about anything? Harry wasn't meant to like Draco, and certainly never think he was attractive.

 

Because anything to do with sex was hideous.

 

Rape does that.

 

But at the same time he was meant to be breaking everyone's rules and expectations. The only question left was _does that include his own_?

 

Ron Weasley rushed away from his table, anger bubbling through him. He approached Harry and glared. Harry didn't even turn around when he heard him snarl,

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Harry's gaze was cold. He stayed seated, his words quiet and harsh.

 

“Because I don't care. I don't care at all any more, so nothing I do matters. I don't care what they do or think about me because I don't care about anything. I don't care what they think of me. I don't care what they say about me. I don't care if I'm expelled but at the same time I don't care if I stay here! I'm sick of being the hero, the punching, the scapegoat. I'm sick of being the centre of attention and the centre of public scrutiny.

 

“I'm sick of being called a liar. I'm sick of people saying I tried and _succeeded_ to kill myself _for attention_. I'm sick of the teachers. I'm sick of the students. I'm sick of therapy. I'm sick of my so called friends. So I quit. I quit Quidditch. I quit Griffindor. And I _most definitely_ quit being the hero. I'm not going to sit with the Slytherins or Griffindors of Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws because I am sick of being labelled and I am sick of meeting people's expectations.”

 

Harry took a breath.

 

“Now. If you don't mind. I was _eating_.”

 

Silence.

 

Again.

 

It was getting old.

 

_But wasn't everything._

 

 

 


	5. When sex and death and me are in the same sentence - because Draco Malfoy is insane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Readers. Thank you so much for so many lovely and kind reviews. They make me feel so warm and fuzzy *blushes* and make me glad that I decided to write this. Some were wondering about how Griffindor could abandon Harry like that, well I think its quite conceivable. Think about the Heir of Slytherin business, almost the whole school abandoned him. Now Ron, who they all thought knew Harry best, is spreading rumours and they are believing them (because he used to be Harry's best friend). I'm glad you like Neville.

“Would you like to discuss your denouncing of Griffindor?”

 

Harry crossed his arms, glared and huffed rather childishly,

 

“I don't have to explain my reasoning to you!”

 

Snape raised an eyebrow,

 

“I promise you I will not think your reasoning is stupid. I will listen. I will not judge.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and sneered,

 

“Yeah right. The teacher who has been insulting me for years is suddenly all unicorns and daisies la la la... You don't fool me. I don't want to share anything with you.”

 

Snape paused for a few moments before saying,

 

“Neville denounced Griffindor as well. Have you two become friends?”

 

Harry nodded warily, unsure where Snape was going with this.

 

“I think this is a lovely development.”

 

Harry snorted,

 

“Well Neville isn't spreading rumours about me being the new dark lord. He actually sees me as a person and not some Boy Who Lived puppet.”

 

Harry paused, thought, then huffed,

 

“I still think this therapy is stupid. I'm absolutely fine.”  
  


“You seem very adamant in that response. Yet, you and I both know it is untrue. You are suicidal and frankly I am surprised you have not tried again.”

 

Harry muttered _Its not like it would have made a different._ Snape asked,

 

“What?”

 

Harry said sardonically,

 

“I said 'perhaps I have seen the error of my ways.' Hmm? Maybe I don't need all this mamby pamby bullshit shoved down my throat. I'm not delicate. I'm not broken. I. Am. Fine. Now, let us sit here in silence.”

 

Snape snorted,

 

“Your blatant refusal to talk points to the fact that you are not as fine as you repeatedly say.”  
  


Harry rolled his eyes. Again.

 

“Well its your job to say that isn't it? You have to say that because it is your craft. If someone was fine but didn't want to do therapy they are obviously _not fine_ because they don't want to take part in your cultist feeling sharing! Its oppressive, that's what it is. Forcing me to sit in this god awful chair and try to seduce me into talking about myself. I'm not an idiot. I know when I'm being coerced. Its not like Dumblebums hasn't tried to manipulate me enough. I can tell when a person is not being sincere. So, I suggest you cut the crap and let me sit here and brood for a bit. God knows I don't have time outside of these sessions to think because of homework!”

 

“Eloquently put.”

 

Harry shot back,

 

“Flattery will get you no where.”

  
Then he proceeded to stare at a particularly interesting speck on the wall whilst ignoring all of Snape's future attempts to talk.

 

Harry refused to be coerced into sharing his feelings.

 

It was just despicable that Snape was trying.

 

Manipulative bastard.

 

\--

 

The Slytherins didn't approve.

 

Not at all.

 

And Draco understood why. He really did. If Blaise had professed his love for _Harry Potter_ he would be naturally upset. Definitely wouldn't be all 'oh everything is fine la la la sunshine and lollipops we don't mind if you run off and elope do da do.' Draco would have properly been very angry. Because Harry was _his_ rival.

 

Exactly.

 

 _His_ rival.

 

Not theirs.

 

 _Why_ were they so upset?

 

Why were they _shunning_ him?

 

He was Draco Fucking Malfoy. Heir of Lucius Malfoy. Elected Leader of the Third Years. Powerful Pure-blood with sickles to spare. He had tonnes of friends, allies and followers. A net of spies in every house. He basically controlled the school.

 

Not that he was arrogant.

 

And _so what_ if _everything_ had been _ruined_ by him _professing his love_ for _Harry Potter_? They still should have stuck by him. Had some Slytherin loyalty. But now they were _pissed_. And maybe.

 

Just maybe.

 

He had... perhaps... made a mistake... by inviting Harry to sleep in the Slytherin dorms.

 

Perhaps... he should have... consulted the others...

 

Maybe... oh just maybe... he shouldn't have assumed... that they would be fine... with Harry _Fucking_ Potter... living with them...

 

Draco understood.

 

He did.

 

And a _big humongous Lucius shaped_ part of him was _screaming and tearing at his hair_ that Draco should never have done it. That he should have played it cool. And perhaps this part of him was his Slytherin part. And perhaps he had always listened to it. And _perhaps_ he _maybe just possibly incidentally_ wasn't listening to it any more. And maybe he was making the worst decision of his life. And _maybe in the name of all that was holy_ he should have been trying to fix his mistakes. Patch up alliances. Shun Harry like _everyone else in the entire school_ was doing. Put on his mask. Sneer at someone. Call someone a mudblood.

 

But he couldn't.

 

Because _the moment_ he accepted that he was _in love with Harry Potter_ was _the moment_ that he accepted _that he had a heart, was capable of love and wanted something more than school wide domination._ And in that moment he may have realised that everything was wrong. Because in that moment he had been crying over Harry's corpse. And in that moment he had realised that there was a Harry shaped hole inside of him, taking a humongous bite into the humongous Lucius shaped part of him.

 

And in that moment he realised how empty he was without Harry _Fucking_ Potter.

 

How underneath his mask and many many layers of Malfoy pride, 'facts' and a Draco snobby persona there was a huge pile of _oh my god I love him so much_. And at the centre of his Malfoy flavoured caramel centre was the thought that the only person he really cared about was Harry Potter. That he would kill for him. Die for him. Do _anything_ for him. And he was worse than a fan-boy because he _knew_ Harry like no one else did. When everyone else thought he was _being himself_ Draco could tell he was _putting on a show_.

 

Draco could see that glint of danger in Harry's eyes. He had been able to _see_ the darkness, anger and betrayal under everything the 'Golden Boy' hid behind. That Harry had been pulling around baggage that was weighing him down. Draco had been there for Harry to vent on, knowingly or not to the snake in a lion's robes. For Harry to scream at, insult, duel. And Harry had been right back there for Draco too.

 

Harry had gone to _Draco_ when he was planning his own death. He had spilled _all_ his secrets to him. He had barely hesitated. He had _known_ that deep down he could trust Draco. And _possibly oh Draco hoped it was possibly true_ Harry loved Draco right back. And they could skip off into the sunset and elope like they were bound to do.

 

So Draco didn't care if they _shunned_ him or _attacked_ him. He was fine in the knowledge that when all the ugly facts were out there for everyone to see the only people that stuck by Harry were his rival and Longbottom. There wasn't much, if any, competition.

 

Harry was practically his for the taking. His to love. His to care for. His to protect.

 

 _His_.

 

And like hell any Slytherins were going to stop him.

 

\--

 

Harry gulped as he felt numerous eyes on him. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to sleep in the _Slytherin_ dorms. Maybe he should have continued on with the elves. Maybe two and a bit years of him thinking that Slytherins were slimy snake had made them _sorta kinda_ **angry to a murderous degree**. And even though Malfoy had invited him he felt that it would be wise to leave as soon as possible. He didn't want to be killed.

 

Then Harry paused.

 

 _Actually_...

 

Hmm...

 

That was an interesting idea.

 

Harry _did_ want to die. A lot. And perhaps this was the place to test out if the angel had in fact been telling the truth. Honestly it could have just been a women in a dress who had drugged him into thinking she was an angel (not that she had been floating, had wings, or brought him back from the dead.) But, perhaps her spell only stopped him from being killed by _himself_ and maybe if another person killed him...

 

He hadn't actually retried to kill himself yet because he had been more focused in other stuff and had been too _trusting_. Trusting. Trusting. He was always too trusting.

 

Well Harry _did_ have a death wish so...

 

He strolled into the Slytherin common room, nodding at the scowling faces every now and again. Neville had decided to sleep with the elves. A smart decision for someone who didn't want to die. Harry smiled lightly. This might just work really. Now. _Where_ was Malfoy? He ought to have a chat with him really. Finding out his nemesis was head over heels in love with him was a bit of a shock.

 

Harry should have probably talked to him about it sooner but honestly he'd taken the whole _I don't care and I quit_ thing to heart. He really just hadn't been _that bothered_ by it. If he was going to die at the next blood moon, if he had any say about it, then he didn't really care what happened. It was all meaningless if he was going to die anyway. Why care if someone you hated actually loves you? What is it they say about love and hate?

 

Something... Something... Mumble... Wasn't paying attention?

 

Eh.

 

Harry looked about for a bit longer before he found Malfoy sitting on one of the common room chairs, soaked in darkness. He was in the corner of the room, out of sight of the other house mates, with a book in his lap. It was in this moment that Harry realised that _everyone_ was ignoring him, and Malfoy had a decidedly determined expression as they did so.

 

Interesting.

 

Harry coughed.

 

Malfoy looked up at him, as soon as he saw him his tense shoulders relaxed and his face softened. Harry found this slightly disturbing. He whispered,

 

“Harry...”

 

Harry nodded, his smile a little tight as Malfoy continued to look at him like a puppy. He had to restrain himself from petting him on the head. Not that it seemed Malfoy would have minded. But even if Harry was a dead man walking he had some standards. And patting people surprisingly seemed to be one of them. One does not go around treating people like pets. Perhaps it was a subconscious thing he brought back from the Dursleys. What would Snape think about it? Uh... no. Harry did not just think that.

  
No way.

 

“Hi Malfoy. You said I could stay in the dorms?”

 

Malfoy nodded. Suddenly his posture snapped into place and he wasn't staring at Harry like he'd been hit by a Cheering Charm. He was staring him like... well... a non-crazy person... most probably sanely. Then his posture changed again and Harry's mouth went slightly dry, out of fear, shock, arousal or all three he didn't know. Draco- Malfoy... Malfoy leaned back into his chair, opening his legs reverently and giving him another seductive smile. Harry thanked the gods that they were being ignored and the corner was dark otherwise everyone would have seen Malfoy... doing... that... and Harry blushing and then feeling disgusted at himself.

 

Sex was horrid. It was a violation. It was painful. It was gross. It made him feel terrible. He could not think about someone, certainly not a boy, in that way. He scowled to himself, his expression shutting down and he said in a monotone voice,

 

“I think I might stay with the elves after all.”

 

Little did Harry know that leaving then did not deter Draco. No. It made him more determined. For he had seen what had gone through Harry's mind, as he had read his expression like he had done so often in the past. He had originally opened up to Draco's advances, and then shuttered down. Draco swore that he would murder the Dursleys if it was the last thing he did.

 

Quite literally.

 

Because Draco didn't do things by halves, and now he was determined to avenge his love. To protect him from further injustice. Draco Malfoy, youngest Slytherin to ever take over the school, had a goal. And that was dangerous. He was so cunning it was scary... for everyone.

 

And when Harry received a letter a week later he almost did a dance for joy and fainted in relief and confusion simultaneously.

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

 

_We regret to inform you that your guardians Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley have passed away in the night of natural causes. Your custody is now being determined by your parents will, James Potter and Lily Potter (nee Evans). If you would like to influence your new guardians you should contact us at your next convenience, but feel free to take your time as we understand the importance of grieving lost ones. Their will reading will be on the 7 th of November, at Glastonbury Hall, it is not compulsory to come but may be important if you wish to receive any inheritance they may have left you. _

 

_Our deepest condolences,_

_British Child Care Association._

 

High in the towers of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore was staring at his many contraptions with confusion. The blood wards had failed. But how?

 

Little did he know that it was never a good idea to get between Draco Malfoy and one he loved.

 

There were dire consequences.

 


	6. When I run and run until I hit a will and revenge list - wasn't this supposed to be easy?

 

Harry glared.

 

“Its rude to stare you know.”

 

Professor Flitwick didn't say anything as he continued to follow, as he was on his way to Herbology, keeping a close eye on him all the time.

 

“I'm fine. I really am. You don't need to follow me like this.”

 

The teacher simply sighed and continued on, remembering the strict instructions to act like a fly on the wall and not interact to Mr. Potter as he could easily manipulate them. Apparently he had become quite the mastermind of shaking off his baby sitters in the past few weeks. No one could figure out where he was walking off to. And Dumbledore said it was imperative that everyone kept tabs on him, but so far the professors were only able to follow the surprisingly cunning boy about half the time.

 

Really they were shocked he wasn't dead again, as they were all almost 100% sure that he was still suicidal.

 

Dumbledore had also said it was important that Potter attended class, but so far he had been able to avoid most of them, and was under strict self-imposed morals of _I quit and I don't care._ He had been found in the library numerous times, but suspiciously without books, and whenever books were found they were all about Quidditch. Even though it was well known that he had quit the team. Everyone was suspicious and worried. Plus a little confused. Snape had been very secretive about the therapy sessions but had said that tailing Potter was still important, meaning he was still a danger to himself. The only questions were why he hadn't attempted again, what he was researching and _how the hell_ had he kept escaping the teachers clutches?

 

He kept his eyes peeled. So far Potter hadn't been able to get rid of him, and he was determined that it stayed that way. Now... Wait... This wasn't the right place for Herbology. Why were they here? Don't look around. Don't look around. Keep your eyes on him and-

 

Potter started to race down the hall that Flitwick hadn't seen until now.

 

 _Stupefy_.

 

He dodged the spell and continued running, an impressive feat considering Flitwick was a duelling champion. He quickly conjured a wall in front of Potter, a difficult spell but very useful. To his huge surprise Potter pulled out his own wand and fired a _reducto_. Something that wasn't taught until fifth year. Then he jumped through the hole in the wall and escaped.

 

Dammit.

 

That kid was crafty.

 

And _where on earth_ had he learnt that spell? What was he really researching in the library?

 

Harry felt the rush of adrenaline run through his veins and had a hard time stopping himself from grinning from all the excess hormones. Escaping. Running. It always seemed to bring his heart beat up. Exercise made him feel better. Slightly. He was still terribly depressed and wished every day that he could die, but running seemed to make him feel better.

 

So he had started running.

 

A lot.

 

He ran away from teachers. He ran away from expectations. He ran away from classes. He ran away from hexes, shouts and orders. Harry felt quite free because he had embraced his new attitude. Because he didn't really care about anything, including his own life, consequences meant nothing. Meaning he could basically do whatever he wanted.

 

Kinda.

 

Harry still had his conscience. But that also seemed on the rocks, and didn't really mind what he did as long as it didn't get anyone else hurt or killed. He liked Neville. He was a good friend. And Harry liked spending time with him, and was glad that he had someone to rely on like that. Someone he had never really had. Someone who denounced Griffindor with him. And Neville understood him; his parents had basically died in the last war too, as he had confided in Harry. So possibly Harry would later spare a moment for him before he killed himself, possibly regret it slightly, but he still needed to die.

 

He was too broken. He still had nightmares. He was still trapped in Hogwarts. He still had flashbacks. He still felt the monster of depression. He was still the scorn of the school, being harassed and cursed at every turn. He still remembered his past. And a crazy murderer was after him. There were still dementors at every corner, making his feelings of despair even worse.  
  
Harry still wanted to die.

 

Desperately.

 

But at the same time life was so much easier once he gave up on caring. Once he said that he quit. Once he didn't care what people thought any more, or what they did, or what detentions they would _think_ he would serve. Harry still kept a few things close to his heart. Like his secrets. He still had his secrets and no one could steal them from him. But apart from that his life was pretty easy to live. There was no more stress and sadness and anxiety and fits of depression (apart from the long fit of depression he was stuck in and quit trying to get out of). He no longer cared whether he lived or died so he no longer cared that Sirius Black was out for his blood.

 

And he didn't care about the school any more. They could think what they wanted to. It didn't bother him. It was no longer his job to save the school from the new peril, he didn't have to do anything about this Black fellow. So what. They killed his parents. Worse things had happened. Who the fuck cared? Harry didn't even care about Voldemort any more. Let him do what he wanted. He was for _living_ people to deal with. And Harry felt dead.

 

Sure. He was _relieved_ that he didn't have to return to the Dursleys. Because honestly that would have been a terrible way to spend his remaining time alive. But at the same time he didn't care because he had endured worse before, and he was over letting other people get him down. Harry was a little curious to see if his boggart was even the same. Maybe it was just nothing. Maybe he didn't fear anything any more because the Dursleys were dead, and Harry was dead too.

 

He was now living for himself. And Neville possibly. And maybe Malfoy.

 

It had seemed that having someone be in love with you rubbed off a bit. Malfoy was incredibly protective, and like Harry it seemed. Whilst Harry's goal in life was to die, Malfoy's goal in life was for Harry to live. Maybe he shouldn't have been spending so much time with the Slytherin who he was supposed to hate (who even cared about that any more) because Malfoy had about the opposite goal to Harry. When the time came, and the blood moon passed, would he _stop_ Harry from killing himself? That was different. Because that was the one thing that Harry _did_ care about?

  
  


Would he dare?

  
  


Oh well. Although Harry's conscience was vehement in keeping everyone _else_ alive. Or at least not _directly_ murdering people, he was sure that if Malfoy tried something like that he could probably make an exception. But that was the future and now was the present. Currently he enjoyed his presence, sorta. He _did_ make Harry feel happy and loved. Probably by always saying that he loved Harry and would do anything for him. But at the same time Harry didn't like the _lust_ in Malfoy's eyes. Of course when he told Malfoy this he noticed his eyes were suddenly returned to the 'I'm a puppy dog I luv you so much and mean you no harm' eyes. Instead of 'I'm not a puppy and I love you in a more serious way and you look delicious' eyes.

  
  


Malfoy also made peace with Neville.

  
  


And now all three of them would hang out by the lake, after class because Neville and Malfoy had reasons to live, and play Wizarding Chess and talk about their lives. Neville's gran had been very proud of him that he had enacted a treaty with the Malfoy family, sure to be profitable, and had even suggested a possible betrothal between bother heirs. When this happened Malfoy hissed, said 'no' immediately, and assured Harry that he would never do that to him. Of course Harry didn't care _that much_ but was surprised by the tint of jealousy he felt, and even indulged Malfoy by letting the blonde run fingers through his hair. And, the only reason he allowed himself to do this was by reassuring himself that this wasn't a sexual act, simply a friendly act, and had nothing to do with feelings for Malfoy.

  
  


Harry had also begun researching... stuff. Mainly when the blood moon was, to his disappointment New Years Eve of 1994. Since it was February then he would have had to wait ten months! Uh. It was annoying to have to live that long, and Harry was determined to try all ways of suicide before then. So far he had slit his wrists, only to have the problem of the knife simply sliding off his arm without cutting it at all. And had tried to jump off the Astronomy Tower again, only to find that when he did he merely floated harmlessly to the ground.

  
  


Apparently no one could hurt him at all.

  
  


It was enough to drive someone mad.

  
  


Harry also spent a lot of time researching _useful_ spells. Since he had to live another ten months he had an idea that in that time he would find some sort of secondary goal to work towards, something he had yet to decide on. But he was sick of not working to his full potential because of brainwashing that he _mustn't do better than Dudley_ so he broke this habit, with the help of Neville and Malfoy, and spent his library time wisely. So far he had learnt defence up to sixth year, since he wasn't attending any other classes most of the time, and had already figured out the _Patronus Charm._ His was an animal he had never seen before and he still didn't know what it was. It was some sort of winged creature, weirdly shaped, and tended to land on people's heads. The worst thing was that no one even saw it, it was like it didn't exist. But it still fought off the pesky dementors. So, Harry's time not in class was well spent.

Malfoy _hated_ , absolutely hated, that Harry didn't go to class. Not because he thought Harry should learn stuff. He thought the more freedom to Harry the better. But because then Malfoy wouldn't be there to protect him.

  
  


So he bought him a necklace.

  
  


A very pretty necklace, made of goblin gold, and enchanted to alert Malfoy to when he was in danger.

  
  


Harry wasn't totally sure how he felt about the blonde. He knew he didn't hate him any more. He only hated a few people, and the ones that were still living he could count on his hand.

  
  


_Ron Weasley._

  
  


_Albus Dumbledore._

  
  


_Hermione Granger._

  
  


_Professor Snape._

  
  


Harry didn't even care about Voldemort any more. He didn't even hate him. Mainly because he thought he was simply crazy and couldn't understand his motives. Why... Why was he trying to kill Harry? What reason was there? Revenge? For being a baby? But at the same time there was a part of him that saw Voldemort as an ally.

  
  


Because they shared a common goal.

  
  


To kill him.

  
  


The reasons for his hatred against Albus Dumbledore were obvious to even the most dim witted of people. This man had placed him with the Dursleys. Harry had also wrote Gringotts because he wanted to make a proper will, and make sure no money went to anyone really, that it just stayed in the bank forever. Harry was feeling slightly vindictive. And he had discovered that Dumbledore had been _stealing his money_. At first he was shocked. Then he didn't really care. Then he solidified Dumbledore on the revenge list. Then he took the money back. And then he read through the bank statements.

  
  


Most of it had gone to some nut house, or Harry believed it to be as much, called _The Order of the Phoenix_ and _their endeavours._ Some had gone to Dumbledore personally. And some had been given to Mrs. Weasley, Ron Weasley, and Ginny Weasley. If Harry had cared more he probably wouldn't have started laughing when he read it. And if he had been paying more attention he probably would have seen the _dangerous glint that promised bad things_ in Malfoy's eye as he read the statement. And a bit of his 'fortune' had been going to the Ministry.

  
  


So Harry had wrote again and a _Gringotts Representative of the Highest Esteem called Rip-jaw Furnak_ (an interesting title) had explained everything to Harry. How he had been robbed, manipulated. How his magical guardian was not Dumbledore but in fact the murderer Sirius Black, and no one had changed this for some reason, and he was almost fully responsible for placing him with the Dursleys, and had been stealing his money.

  
  


Harry shrugged.

  
  


Then signed himself on for the role of Lord Potter. Mainly so he could be emancipated and then wouldn't have to do therapy any more or attend Hogwarts (only, he still was living there because he needed to find a good place to stay and worthy method of escape, along with bringing Neville and Malfoy with him.) So he moved all his money back and wore some fancy Potter ring, along with signing some documents and made his own will. This time completely serious, because he was going to die in ten months so everything needed to be in order. So he wrote it out:

  
  


_THIS IS THE LAST WILL OF Harry James Potter._

_I REVOKE all wills and testimonies that I have previously made, or have been made for me AND/OR the Potter estate on my behalf._

_I APPOINT Rip-Jaw Furnak to be the executor and trustee of this will and if he predeceases me, or having survived me, refuses or is unable to act, I appoint Griphook Gornuk._

_I GIVE **Privet Drive Number 4 Surrey** to the Ministry of Magic ON THE CONDITION that it be investigated for child abuse related crimes, AND NOT used as a place to hold child/ren in the future. IF THE FIRST CONDIION IS NOT MET WITHIN 30 DAYS, AND THE SECOND IS NOT CONTINUALLY MET FOR AS LONG AS CHILD/REN ARE BORN, I GIVE **Privet Drive Number 4 Surrey** to Remus Lupin ON THE CONDITION that it be burnt to the ground within 30 days. IF THIS CONDITION IS NOT MET **Privet Drive Number 4 Surrey** shall remain in foreclosure forever onwards. _

_I GIVE **All Potter Estates** to Neville Longbottom, to use as he sees fit, ON THE CONDITION that these estates belong to Neville Longbottom, and possibly any wives or husbands or child/ren he has CHOSEN LEGALLY WITHOUT USE OF POTIONS, IMPERIOUS, ALCHOHOL, DRUGS OR COERCION, and not to any other family or parties. IF NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM DIES BEFORE HE CAN ACCEPT THESE ESTATES, OR DOES NOT MEET THIS CONDITION, I GIVE **All Potter Estates** to Gringotts Bank England, for whatever purposes they see fit, ON THE CONDITION that these contents not be used, in anyway, to fund ANY WAR EFFORT, Light or Dark or ones unknown. AND ON THE CONDITION THAT THESE ESTATES NOT BE GIVEN TO ANY OTHER CREATURE, BUT BELONG TO THE GOBLINS._

_I GIVE **The contents of all vaults** to Draco Lucius Malfoy, ON THE CONDITION that his father, or any other family he possesses, receive none of it in any shape or form, including moneys, possessions, buildings or businesses. EXCLUDING any wives or husbands or child/ren he has CHOSEN LEGALLY WITHOUT USE OF POTIONS, IMPERIOUS, ALCHOHOL, DRUGS OR COERCION. And ON THE CONDITION that these contents not be used, in anyway, to fund ANY WAR EFFORT, Light or Dark or ones unknown. IF DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY DIES BEFOR HE CAN ACCEPT THESE CONTENTS, OR DOES NOT MEET ONE OF THESE CONDITIONS, I GIVE **The contents of all the vaults** to Gringotts Bank England, for whatever purposes they see fit, ON THE CONDITION that these contents not be used, in anyway, to fund ANY WAR EFFORT, Light or Dark or ones unknown. AND ON THE CONDITION THAT THESE CONTENTS NOT BE GIVEN TO ANY OTHER CREATURE, BUT BELONG TO THE GOBLINS._

_I GIVE **My Earthly possessions** to Sirius Orion Black, so he can see that murdering my parents left me WITH BASICALLY NOTHING. _

_I, Harry James Potter, swear that these be the conditions and movements of my will, to see magic do what it sees right. So I say it._

_So mote it be._

  
  


Harry hated Ron Weasley because he was a terrible person and was currently trying to make Harry's life hell. He had never been a real friend, and was now showing his true colours of either an idiot or a sociopath. He either _was so dumb_ that he couldn't see Harry was suicidal. Or _was so evil_ that he saw this as an opportunity to have some personal gain. He was spreading horrible rumours around, and it turned out that he had even been stealing from him as well.

  
  


So yeah.

  
  


He was on the revenge list.

  
  


Harry hated Hermione... because she was annoying. That was basically it. _Who cares_ if you killed his parents? They died _years_ ago. It was time to move on. And Harry didn't care that hating someone because they were annoying was a terrible reason because no one would ever find out that he hated her _for that_. They would probably think it was the manipulations, betrayal, or perhaps the sabotage that she apparently put into his work. Not that she needed to since he had been too stuck in the mindset that he had to fail that he hadn't tried at all. How had he even passed?

  
  


Harry also hated Snape because he was a manipulative bastard who he wanted to burn in hell. So what. He was trying to help. Pfft. Big deal. _He_ was trying to get Harry to share his feelings, experiences, memories, and basically try to get him to heal. It was infuriating! He just wanted to die, and now he was cursed with life, so he didn't need someone making him _able_ to live. Because then he would have to return to Hogwarts, return to misery, return to being the saviour, probably return to Qudditch and would no longer be able to _die_. And Harry knew that he was slowly, ever so slowly, feeling better. But he still felt terrible. And suicidal. And he knew if he got healthy enough, and happy enough, then he wouldn't even _need_ to die any more. Even now was a small part of him saying he would miss Neville and Malfoy, saying he didn't _need_ to die.

  
  


Manipulative bastard.

  
  


Why was dying so goddamn _hard_?

  
  


It was meant to be the easy way out.

 


	7. When I follow my death wish and find god - I mean my godfather

 

“ _...You like that don't you?”_

 

“ _Please stop! Please!”_

 

“ _This is all your fault, bitch.”_

 

“ _No! NO! Stop!”_

 

“ _Just take it. I know you love it. Take it.”_

 

“ _Ple- Please. I... No... Stop...”_

 

“ _Fuck. You're so fucking sexy. So bruised and broken for me. So tight.”_

 

“ _No... No... Stop... Please...”_

 

“ _I could fuck you all day freak.”_

 

“ _No...”_

 

Harry woke up, drenched in a pool of cold sweat. The nightmares were still there. Always there. They never left him. They haunted him like the memories. He would never be free of them. He would never be free. He would never...

 

Why?

 

Why was he cursed to live like this? Cursed to stay in this putrid life? He wanted to go to heaven. To be free of the shackles that surrounded him. Why was it all so unfair?

 

“Harry? Harry are you okay?”  
  


Paralysed in fear Harry recoiled slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Harry! Oh no! Another nightmare!”

 

He clenched his eyes shut. Someone was _touching_ him. His _shoulder_. He was being _touched_. And he couldn't stop it. He could never stop it. It would always be like this. He would always have to go back. And where was his reality? What was real? Was his freedom a lie? Would he be returning that summer? Was he-

 

The hands shook him.

 

“Harry! You've got to snap out of it. You're a Hogwarts! Its me Neville. You're okay. He can't get you here.”

 

Harry opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. Sure enough. He was surrounded by elves. Sleeping on a tattered bed with Neville close beside him. He saw the worry shining out of his friends caring eyes. Why was he so _weak_? Always so weak. Always. He couldn't even get over his stupid past. He couldn't move on. Oh, how he longed to move on. But he was weak. And stupid. And hideous.

 

Why couldn't they let him die?

 

“Harry! Stop thinking like that!”

 

Harry tilted his head in confusion,

 

“Did I say that out loud?”

 

Neville shook his head,

 

“No. But I know what you're thinking and its not true. You're not weak. Its not your fault. And you need to _live_!”

 

Harry growled,

 

“No! No way! I'm sick of living, Neville, you _know_ this. Quit all this... this... harassment. I can't deal with it right now. Or ever. Just _let me die_. The world will be better off anyway.”

 

Neville shook his head, something akin to anger on his face,

 

“No Harry! You are the most amazing person I have ever met and if _you need to die_ then I bloody well should already be six feet underground! You _can_ get through this. I know you can. And I will be there for you. There's a _reason_ why you haven't tried again Harry. Its because you're strong!”

 

Harry shouted,

 

“Its because I'm cursed!”

 

Neville misunderstood and thought it was a figure of speech.

 

Harry knew better.

 

He always knew better.

 

How he wished he didn't know better.

 

How he wished he wasn't special and hadn't been granted the _gift_ of life.

 

Fucking angels!

 

Harry was running...

 

Again.

 

Around the Quidditch pitch. Blood pumping through his veins. Breath in his throat. Lungs filling dramatically and deflating earnestly. Eyes wide and arms spinning by his sides. God he loved running now. He loved to let the grass drain away the emotions at his feet. Let the endorphins control him. Let the energy fill him to the brink, and be drained away the minute he stopped. Harry was training himself in the art of apathy. So many terrible thing he felt were because he chose to _feel_ them. And he was sick of it. He had quit Quidditch. He had quit Griffindor. He had quit being the hero. And now he was quitting feeling.

 

Or at least trying.

 

Because he was still depressed and falling in that deep hole of despair inside himself. He was still angry at the world and the Dursleys and Dumbledore and everyone. And he was still swirling in a whirlwind of faint moments of contentment with his real friends, and dragging moments of despair and the _need_ to die.

  
And running helped.

 

He could focus on his breath. His heart. The hammering drum in his chest. The slight pain at the back of his throat because he didn't drink enough. The magic running through his veins. The chill in the air that he cut through so seamlessly. And Harry was getting faster as well. He had developed a type of insomnia. Only being able to sleep once every two days. The nightmares keeping him awake. So he ran. He ran and he ran and he ran until he could run no more, and collapsed from exhaustion. Because it seemed like the only way he could let himself sleep now.

 

Harry still barely slept. And when he did sleep it was eleven and he woke at three. Still running in the night. Laughing at the rattle in his breath, like a dementors. Because they ran with him. They glided above him in the sky. And Harry was no longer afraid of that chill, of his mother's scream meshed with the pain of his uncle's abuse. He was no longer afraid of their kisses. Of their motherly hugs that were drenched in a darkness he dreamt about every night. And they no longer cared for him. They no longer sought him out. Because Harry had no happiness.

 

Harry only had despair.

 

So there was nothing there for them to take.

 

Harry glided with them in his mind. Letting the black of early morning take him over. He was determined to keep up.

 

They would be scared of _him_ now.

 

Harry walked lazily through the forbidden forest. Eh. He couldn't die so he didn't really care about his safety. It was late. One 'o' clock in the morning. This was his 'odd' night. As in he slept on 'even' nights and did whatever he wanted on 'off' nights. Every now and again he would hear some sort of animal's call. A crow. A screech. A growl. The flutter of dainty wings. It was soothing in a twisted sort of way, because he knew most of the things in the forest wanted to eat him.

 

Well. He probably wanted to eat them too, _so there_!

 

He sat down in the crook of a tree, feet burning in his tatty shoes from walking so far. He had bought new shoes but all his running had ruined them. Maybe he would walk bare footed from then on. Yeah. That was a good idea. He could quit shoes as well, because why not? He layed his head back against the rough bark, worried slightly about splinters before he shrugged this off. He was meant to be _apathetic_ not _worried_.

 

Harry ignored the swirling sadness sewed into his very DNA. It was not what he was feeling, because he was feeling nothing. When he had _foolishly_ told Snape the-bane-of-his-suicidal-hope about his plan to be apathetic, he had spouted off some rubbish about a coping mechanism and that he instead recommended meditation, to calm his raging emotions. Last time he _foolishly_ tells the annoying healer wannabe.

 

A big black dog walked up to him, its brown eyes staring at him in something akin to worry, guilt and recognition. Eh. But Harry was slightly interested. No he wasn't. No he wasn't. He was apathetic and- _How could a dog feel that? It was just a dog_.

 

Damn it.

 

But Harry was intrigued. He had been approached by many creatures of the forest, a few attempting to kill him, and when they failed walking off in a huff. This dog was a grim. An apparent bringer of death. Well... perhaps it would work. Harry pulled out his left arm and held it for the dog to bite. Just one bite. Just one bite. Bring me death... please?

 

Then something quite unexpected happened and Harry drew in a breath in surprise.

 

The dog turned into a man. A very thin frail shaggy haired man. But a man none-the-less.

 

He withdrew his hand in suspicion and raised his eyebrow, once he realised that this man was Sirius Black. The murderer of his parents. Hadn't he decided not to care about him? That sounded like something he would do. Yep. This man was not his to worry about. Harry leaned back into the tree. This man couldn't kill him so Harry wondered what he would do once he discovered that. Harry said,

 

“You can try to kill me but you won't succeed.”

 

Sirius stared at him as if he was crazy. Was he imagining Harry Potter? His best friend's son? Sitting in a tree in the middle of the night in the Forbidden Forest... _relaxing_? He spluttered, better safe than sorry,

 

“Its not true! Its not true Harry! I didn't kill your parents. I didn't set them up. It was Pettigrew. That _rat_. He was the secret keeper and gave their location to You-Know-Who. I was the decoy. I didn't do it. I didn't do it. Please believe me!”

 

Harry shrugged,

 

“Okay.”

 

Sirius stared, hope brimming in his eyes,

 

“You... Believe me?”

 

Harry shrugged again,

 

“Eh.”

 

Sirius was starting to get suspicious. Did Harry _really_ believe him or was he just saying that? And if he _didn't_ believe him why was he just... lying there? Sirius wasn't too happy with his godson's value for his own life.

 

“I don't believe _you_!”

 

Harry turned to face him, sighing loudly as if in exasperation.

 

“Don't believe I... What?”

 

Sirius huffed,

 

“I don't believe you believe me. Why would you?”

 

Harry shrugged for a third time.

 

“You said so.”

 

Sirius raised an incredulous eyebrow.

 

“And what reason do you have to trust my word. Someone you met out in the middle of the Forbidden Forest?”

 

“Meh.”

 

Sirius sighed. He looked at the boy closely. He was awfully thin. And looked desperately like James. But there was something about him. Something _very_ different to James. He just couldn't but his finger on it. He sat down on a fallen log beside him and said,

 

“Don't you want to know how I escaped Askaban?”

 

Harry shrugged,

 

“Not especially. But if you want to tell me I won't stop you.”

 

Sirius began,

 

“So the thing about cells in Askaban...”

 

Harry walked back to the castle. A dog beside him, every now and again licking his hand. At which he would shrug. He was certainly getting better at _acting_ apathetic. But really he still _felt_ the same. Which was a bummer. Sirius trailed closely beside him, excited to be staying with his godson who was so very trusting. It was time he did things right. Time he acted like a real parent. It was clear that Harry needed one. Just _what was he doing wandering around the Forbidden Forest at one in the morning_?

 

Instead of going to Griffindor tower like Sirius expected Harry instead walked in the exact opposite direction, humming under his breath, and stopping every now and again to talk to portraits. As if he had all the time in the world. “Oh fair lady, how lovely you look today? It is as if you have a whole new coat of paint!” “Don't think I don't know what you were doing in the Charms hall. Don't worry, I won't tell a soul.” “However nice to see you again, I wasn't sure I would. I was sure you would have moved somewhere else by now.”

 

Sirius didn't know what to think.

 

Harry strolled to a familiar painting. Ah. He was going to get a snack before going to bed, quite a trouble maker. When they walked inside instead of getting a snack he walked into a side room. A side room with a couple beds and another boy sleeping there. Sirius transformed back into a man,

 

“What are we doing here?”

 

“This is where I live.”

 

“I thought you were a Griffindor?”

 

“They shunned me from the house for being suicidal. Hey Neville! Wake up. My murderous godfather is here!”

 

The brown eyed boy's eyes flew open. He jumped out of the bed brandishing his wand like a gun and pointed it at Sirius in shock.

 

“Harry! Your murderous godfather is here!”  
  


Harry nodded,

 

“I know.”

 

No one said anything for about two minutes.

 

Sirius broke the silence.

 

“I'm innocent.”

 

Then he added.

 

“And what is this about you being suicidal? I'm so sorry. I should have been there but...”

 

Harry, for the first time in a month, managed to get to sleep on an odd night. Even if it was only for three hours.

 

Because nightmares were better than Sirius' apologetic blubbering.

 


	8. When apparently I started a secret "inner circle" - and everyone needs to shut their faces

 

Harry's eyes were filled with hidden contempt as he stared at Dumbledore, sitting across from him, them separated by his desk. This was the man who had left him at the Dursleys. This was the man who had forced him to fight Quirrelmort. This was the man who had left him to kill a basilisk. And this was the man who was currently trying to read his thoughts.

 

Thank god Harry didn't normally meet people's eyes or all his new secrets would have been stolen before.

 

No.

 

Harry had learned Occlumency. Really it wasn't too difficult to one so apathetic as him. Yeah. He was apathetic. Right. _I hate him I hate him I hate him_. Hate? That was part of apathy right? Sadness? Anger? That tint of love when Malfoy stared at you for a second too long, admiring you. Was it something on your face? Did you have a smudge on your nose? Or could it have possibly been Harry's dazzling green eyes, holding so many memories.

 

Harry supposed he wasn't really apathetic. He didn't care about much but he still felt emotions. He was proud to say that yesterday he had forsaken shoes once and for all!

 

“ _Uh... Harry?”_

 

“ _Yeah Neville?”_

 

“ _Why aren't you... wearing shoes?”_

 

“ _I quit them.”_

 

_Sirius hummed in the background, reading a book, every now and again twirling a lock of his messy hair in his fingers. He simply nodded slightly at the conversation. He had learnt in the past few days that Harry was slightly... strange. But that was fine. Sirius was strange too so it didn't bother him much. He was more than compensated for the strangeness by being forgiven._

 

“ _Why?”_

 

_Harry shrugged._

 

“ _Why not?”_

 

Nasty little blighters kept trying to jump back onto his feet, luckily Harry had _incendioed_ them quickly before they could nab a toe. Perhaps he was exaggerating.

 

Harry had actually learnt the skills of Occlumency because he had made techniques to cope for his relatives. Mostly blocking out pain. He could never get all of it. But it helped. Apparently it was some form of meditation. And meditation was key to Occlumency. So he learned it pretty quickly. The strangest thing was that when he was learning it he _felt like he didn't want to_ which was weird because he _absolutely did_. Luckily Harry's strong sense of self overcame these... weird thoughts and he continued on well, learning it in about a month and making sure not to meet people's eyes until then.

 

Harry's eyes narrowed and he wrote _Legilimency of a minor is illegal_ in bold red letters in front of his mental shield. The shock on Dumbledore's face was palpable and Harry had a hard time stopping from falling to the floor and laughing like a kookaburra or some sort of demented squirrel. He tilted his head to the side dangerously and said,

 

“So... Headmaster. Why did you want to see me?”

 

Dumbledore's 'default' persona kicked in and he smiled warmly at Harry, with his twinkling eyes and grandfatherly smile. Harry rolled his eyes and waited for him to answer the question.

 

“Harry, my boy, I have a few things to discuss with you. The most important being about your end of year exams. Due to your... personal reasons you haven't been attending classes so it is assumed you will need to repeat third year, or have some intensive lessons in the summer holidays.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes again, this time the victim being McGonagall who was looking at him with an admonished frown. As if she was disappointed in him. She was attending the meeting because she was his head of house, along with Snape. Who was apparently there for emotional support. Because ever since he had been Harry's therapist he had turned into an overprotective bunny.

 

Harry was not impressed.

 

He sighed, before turning to McGonagall and answering,

 

“I will take the tests with my peers.”

 

The teachers seemed shocked at this announcement and Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes again. Oh what the hell! Why should he have to restrain himself? Harry rolled his eyes again, mirth obvious on his features. McGonagall spluttered, slightly angry,

 

“But you haven't been attending _any_ classes! How could you think you were properly prepared? How on earth did you-”

 

Harry interrupted, finding immense satisfaction of her anger increasing at that. He had never liked McGonagall. Maybe it was because every time they came to her with a problem she simply dismissed them.

 

“Actually, McGonagall, as my head of house I have a request for you. I need to switch my electives. Dropping Divination and moving to Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. I will be taking the end of year exams with my peers in these classes as well.”

 

They all stared at him in shock again and he rolled his eyes again. Honestly!

 

This time I-no-longer-bite-like-I-bark Snape spoke,

 

“How can you be at the same level as your peers?”

 

Harry shrugged,

 

“Independent study. Now that that matter is out of the way...”

 

McGonagall fumed,

 

“I assure you, Mr. Potter, that the matter is _not_ out of the way! How dare you justify-”

 

Harry rolled his eyes.

 

It was becoming an annoying habit of his.

 

“-taking exams with people who have been learning _all year_. Whereas you have been learning _nothing_ for over three months?”

 

Harry shrugged and made to stand when Dumbledore smiled 'kindly' at him and beckoned him to sit down again. Harry sighed in exasperation, wondering if the meeting was worth it at all and if he cared enough to stay and listen. He was dying in a few months who _cared_ about their Hogwarts education? He just wanted to lie in bed all day and moan and weep, but at the same time he didn't want to admit to any weaknesses.

 

Harry was stuck in limbo.

 

Dumbledore spoke calmly, getting very annoyed and anxious at Harry's continual ignoring of his attempts to control him.

 

“Now, Harry, I suppose we can leave the matter of electives to another day. Another thing I wanted to discuss was where you should stay in the summer. If you want I can ask Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall to leave.”

 

Harry shrugged before saying,

 

“No. Its good to have witnesses.”

 

He turned to Snape and winked,

 

“Just try to stay conscious, the only time someone has been a witness at one of my fabled 'attempted murders' they were blacked out and getting the stuffing drained from them.”

 

The Potions Master stiffened slightly, but Harry simply relaxed back into his chair, making a gesture for Dumbledore to continue.

 

“Hmm. Well. I see only one real place you can stay at. The Burrow.”

 

He held up a hand, as if Harry was going to interrupt his excuses. He could see the twinkle in the old man's eye and knew what he was up to. But Harry found the whole thing far too amusing to stop him, happy that for once he actually had a place to stay. Even if it was in the dingy home of his sane-but-slightly-insane-innocent-but-slightly-guilty Godfather.

 

“I know you aren't getting on well with Mr. Weasley at the moment. And it is understandable that when you are experiencing such troubles as yourself friendships can be strained-”

 

Harry lifted an eyebrow. Ron was still spreading nasty rumours.

 

“-but it is important not to lose all hope. Not to burn all your bridges. And the Weasley family is a safe place, a familiar place, and I believe a perfect place for you to continue your healing.”

 

Harry said,

 

“Oh, sorry Headmaster, but I already have a place to stay for the holidays.”

 

Dumbledore chuckled, as if he wasn't seething inside,

 

“Nonsense my boy, it isn't healthy for a boy to live alone.”

 

Harry leaned back in his chair, content in a way that was surprising.

 

“I won't be alone.”

 

Then he stood, nodded respectfully to everyone except Rabbit Man and said cordially,

 

“Now, I look forward to exams. Thank you for arranging this visit. But, alas, I have places to be.”

 

McGonagall questioned, seeming to have finally calmed down,

  
“Where do you need to be? You attend no classes at all.”

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“I have plans.”

 

_I have plans..._

 

Harry layed down, his head resting gently against the cool of the stone, his eyes closed, sunlight pooling pleasantly through the windows and the sounds of people milling about surrounding him. He was calm and content lying on the floor of the corridor. Sometimes people would stop and stare at him, he could feel their presence leaning over him, but then they would continue on. As everyone was still ignoring him. He hummed in amusement as he heard someone say,

 

“What is he doing lying there on the floor? Is he okay?”

 

“Sunbathing?”

 

He simply sighed and let his thoughts drift around. It had been a pleasant enough year. No one had tried to kill him. That was good. He had died. Was that good? Maybe. His relatives were dead. That was wicked. And his rival had fallen in love with him. Hmm... He'd have to think about that. He still wasn't sure how he felt.

 

“Harry?”

 

Harry squinted his eyes open to see Malfoy leaning over him, a worried expression plastered on his face.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Harry nodded, smiling. He said,

 

“I thought this would be the perfect place to lie down. Much better than with the elves or out on the Quidditch Pitch. Much more exciting.”

 

Malfoy chuckled,

 

“You wanted to get in everyone's way? Annoy them? Or have you simply given up on walking now?”  
  
Harry shrugged.

 

It had simply seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

To his _slight indifferent please I want to be apathetic_ surprise Malfoy kneeled down before lying beside him, staring up at the roof of the corridor, right beside Harry. Harry watched in fascination as he ignored the whispers and looks sent his way and simply stared at the cold stone cob-webbed ceiling above him, probably thinking about something profound-

 

Little did Harry know that at that moment Draco was thinking some very crude thoughts about Harry. What he wanted to do to Harry in what classroom for what reason. And what he wanted Harry to do to him. Of course Draco would never ask Harry, well not any time in the near future, because Harry had been freaked out by the _looks_ Draco had sent him. He would blow a casket if Draco asked him for sexual favours.

 

-Perhaps Malfoy was thinking about Harry? Hogwarts? Spiders? Harry didn't mind spiders, plenty of them in the cupboard under the stairs. They were one of the creatures it was important to make peace with.-

 

Maybe Harry would come around one day. Of course he would. Harry would love him back. It was only a matter of time. The question Draco had was what to do in the mean time. He had destroyed his title and all his assets along with all of his following and loyalty to follow his one heart's whim. Harry. He had decided that Harry was his new goal, instead of power, and that it was his duty to love, care and protect him. But now he was at a bit of an impasse. What should/could he do while he waited for Harry to realise he loved him back?

 

-After all, it would have been stupid to piss off the _poisonous_ creatures he lived with. It was just unneighbourly, along with stupid.

 

Harry made his way over to the Hufflepuff table, ignoring the sneers thrown his way, and started to devour a treacle tart. Excited that they appeared there as well.

 

He sat at all house tables except for Griffindors, resolute in the fact to stay as far away as possible from them, even though some of the house looked like it was going to crack. Half because of how the Quidditch Cup was likely to turn out in the final game, it was a wonder they had made it that far at all, and half because they didn't like the Boy Who Lived mingling with other houses. The Ravenclaw table didn't allow him to sit there, apparently too frightened of losing their new tentative alliance with Griffindor, that happened after their joint snubbing of him. Mostly Harry sat at Slytherin and at Hufflepuff. Ignoring the jeers and jibes from both tables and simply talking noisily to Neville and Malfoy.

 

As he started to cut into his pudding, he wiggled his toes under the table in anticipation. Mmm... Treacle tart. Neville and Malfoy started to talk about something... something... tart... He was about to eat it when he was interrupted by Neville's worried stare. He placed the pudding reluctantly down and said,

 

“What?”

 

Neville tilted his head, pointing at something, and said,

 

“You have a visitor.”

 

Harry turned to look at a blonde haired girl who looked about the same size as him, she had dizzying blue eyes and a necklace made from butter beer caps. He nodded at her. She curtsied, he noticed the Ravenclaw emblem on her robe, and said,

 

“My lord, I am Lady Lovegood, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

Harry smiled at her serenely before saying,

 

“I'm Harry Potter, its nice to meet you too.”

 

The Lovegood girl continued,

 

“My first name is Luna, although many seem to carry the misconception that it is _Loony_ instead. Honestly. I am in second year and a Ravenclaw, and pledge myself to your cause, in the hopes that you might accept me into your inner circle, Lord of the Cerberus.”

 

Harry tilted his head in concern,

 

“Inner circle?”

 

Neville intervened,

 

“Does she mean circle of friends?”

 

Malfoy growled at Luna,

 

“I don't like you.”

 

Luna simply smiled and said,

 

“I wish you a happy future, Consort to the Lord.”

 

She curtsied.

 

Malfoy's eyes were opened wide and he stared at her in disbelief. Neville looked the same. Harry felt quizzical and asked,

 

“Consort?”

 

Malfoy started to blush, his eyes turning down at his food. Neville said quietly,  
  
“When a man marries a Lord or a woman marries a Lady they cannot take the Lord or Lady title, so they gain the title Consort. She was saying that you and Malfoy were married.”

 

Luna reminded Neville quietly,

 

“In all but blood, my sweet.”

 

Neville stared at her in confusion and Harry said,

 

“Malfoy is not my consort, sorry to disappoint.”  
  


Luna shrugged before turning fully to Harry, curtsying again, and said,

 

“Do you allow me in the circle?”

 

Harry shrugged.

 

Eh.

 

Luna seemed... interesting. And adding another person of questionable sanity to the mix would mean the crazies outnumbered the sane.

 

Those were odds Harry could work with.

 

He smiled at her, patting a seat beside him,

 

“You are in, Lady Lovegood, let this friendship be a long one.”

 

Luna smiled, plopping into the seat next to him. Malfoy's blush had left his face and he was now glaring at Luna defiantly, annoyed that she was sitting so close to Harry. Luna interjected,

 

“And let the grey prevail over the light and dark. For we cannot know what is right and wrong, and using different shades of the same colour only makes us all jaded. Using the same tactics-”

 

Glance at Dumbledore.

 

“-makes us the same as ones we want to defeat. As nothing can be 100% good and nothing can be 100% evil, good and evil cannot exits. Therefore one side cannot be Light and one cannot be Dark.”

 

She lifted a glass of pumpkin juice,

 

“To the Council of the Cerberus. Long live Lord Harry. And all his ambitions.”

 

She took a drink. Never noticing the silence that surrounded her or the possibly _curious_ look in Harry's eyes.

 

Luna knew.

 

She just did.

 

They would all know soon enough.

 


	9. When I win at school - and Luna and Malfoy grapple for power or daisychains

 

McGonagall stared in shock at Harry's report card as she read it. In every class they said he had barely attended lessons since after his suicide attempt. Just after Christmas break. And he had only attended lessons _at all_ when they were still able to catch him.

 

She still wondered if all that time he had _let_ them catch him.

 

And now here was his report card.

 

His perfect report card.

 

With an O in every subject.

 

Including the electives he didn't even take.

 

And she simply stared.

 

Harry was threw a tantrum the moment he read his report card. Luckily he was at the lake with Neville and Malfoy, Luna was kinda there (was she ever really there?), and the paper was on the ground scrunched up at his feet. Harry was throwing a tantrum, destroying everything he could see, except the living things which weren't 100% convinced they weren't targets, and screaming obscenities.

 

Mainly at himself.

 

And it was all because of his report card.

 

Malfoy and Neville had been _extremely_ confused because when they read it they had seen his _perfect_ scores. Better than even Granger. And here was Harry... acting the most childish and upset they had ever seen him act.

 

And that was why Harry was angry.

 

He was angry.

 

Furious.

 

A cauldron of bubbling fury melting inside him exploding everything on impact.

 

Because he was.

 

Because he was _angry_.

 

At first Harry had felt elation. Proud of himself. Smugness. And then he had realised that he had failed at his so desperately sought at apathy by _being_ proud and happy. So he had become distressed. And then angry. And then _really_ angry. Harry's spell were becoming more destructive. What started out as _reductos_ were turning into _diffindos_ and _bombardos_. Things were starting to break. Explode. Tear into tiny tiny pieces and scream in agony as they died, but that was mostly the grass and no one could hear its screams except Luna.

 

Harry was on the end of his tether and everyone was scared out of their wits.

 

That was until Luna stepped in. Up until then she had been sitting calmly, making daisy chains and every now and again casting a spell at her pretty necklaces and crowns. Then she had wrapped them up tightly. They were to be a gift to Harry. Once she was done she turned up to see the noise and carnage being created around her and thought that the Council of the Cerberus wouldn't be able to happen at all if they were all blown to smitheries.

 

“Lord Harry?”

 

She called softly, and ethereally. Definitely not the tone someone would expect for such a chaotic situation. Neville and Malfoy were shooting her astonished looks.

 

Harry turned to her, fury still blazing, his wand pointing at her like the deadly weapon it was. Luna didn't even flinch and simply continued on with her dazed expression. He said stiffly, and Neville felt a bad feeling starting in his gut,

 

“Yes. Luna?”

 

She smiled at him, but Harry's gaze didn't change. Malfoy was looking at his love in curiosity. He didn't really care about anything except his love, or perhaps Neville. The ex-Griffindor wasn't so bad, and shared his concern for Harry. Malfoy wondered if Harry was going to kill the newest member of Harry's 'inner circle'. Luna didn't look phased at all.

 

“What are your self imposed morals?”

 

Harry's narrowed dangerously, slightly confused to why she was asking. Neville visibly sighed in relief as Harry's grip on his wand wasn't so... death-y.

 

“I quit and I don't care.”  
  


Her head tilted to the side in wonder before she said,

 

“And you said you quit emotions, did you not?”  
  


Neville and Malfoy finally understood what had got Harry in such a strop and were sending warning glances at Luna that it _probably hadn't been the best idea to bring it up_! Neville gulped as Harry's grip returned to a death grip.

 

He nodded stiffly.

 

Luna mused,

 

“I would imagine that it would take a lot of _effort_ and _care_ to quit one's emotions. Would you agree?”

 

Harry grunted, his anger coming off in waves,

 

“You would be right.”

 

She smiled at him blissfully before asking,

 

“Then why have you gone to all the trouble. Why not quit apathy instead? Quit _caring about your emotions_. And quit _trying to control them_. Do not strive for apathy, Lord Harry. Do not strive to control. Strive to follow your own guidelines. Quit your new goal and cease caring about how much the emotions trouble you.”

 

Luna paused for a moment,

 

“Let them be.”

 

Harry stared at her for a while, wand still drawn, gaping like a fish.

 

Then he smiled a beaming crazy smile that did not belong on his face and leapt at Luna, hugging her tightly, sending off an array of _thank you thank you thank you_. Tears looking close by.

 

Malfoy growled.

 

Luna giggled.

 

Harry frowned before pulling away and turned his gaze to the blonde.

 

“Was that a... _growl_?”

 

Luna giggled again and Malfoy snarled at her,

 

“Do not touch him!”

 

Harry stared in shock,

 

“You cant-”

 

Malfoy turned to Harry, a dangerous expression on his face. Harry never thought Malfoy would hurt him until now. He started to cower slightly and Malfoy saw this, quickly leaping up, his expression returned to _I am a puppy and I luv you so much_. Harry was still slightly wary. Malfoy said softly, holding Harry close to him, ignoring how stiff he was since he was not being pushed away or asked to stop,

 

“Sorry, love. I may get a bit possessive at times.”

 

Harry stared.

 

“It was only Luna!”

 

Luna giggled, reminding him softly,

 

“Lord Harry, you refer to me as Little Moon. Do not forget.”

 

Harry's gaze was slightly quizzical but still focused on Malfoy. Neville was unusually quiet and was simply staring at the event with a morbid sense of curiosity. Malfoy said,

 

“Harry, I don't trust her. She's crazy. And thinks you are some kind of dark lord!”

 

He then murmured,

 

“Not that I would care if you were.”

 

And then said loudly,

 

“But we don't even _know_ her! And she's a second year. She could be a spy of some sort. And she's nuts!”

 

Luna interjected,

 

“Consort of the Lord, do not worry. I am of no threat to you or Harry.”

 

Malfoy glared at her.

 

She simply sighed,

 

“You will understand soon enough. And I will happily follow whatever you wish. Now, I have some important business to attend to.”  
  


Luna made some more daisy chains.

 

It was in that moment that Harry realised he was _holding_ Malfoy. Malfoy's hands were on his back, holding him close, and his own arms were splayed around Malfoy's neck.

 

Harry flushed.

 

Malfoy nuzzled his mouth into his neck, making goosebumps jump down his spine, his warm breath making his body _react in a way that he definitely did not support_.

 

Arousal.

 

Harry pulled away as if he had been burned, blushing desperately all the while, and feeling sick at himself. Malfoy layed a hand on his shoulder, at which he flinched, and said softly,

 

“He is dead Harry. He can no longer hurt you.”

 

Harry sent him a piercing questioning look and said softly,

 

“Did you kill them?”

 

Malfoy nodded, almost unnoticeably.

 

Neville's eyes widened in shock. Luna continued weaving daisy chains. Draco resigned himself for the speech about _good and bad and murder_ , plus the eventual loss of friendship from Neville and Harry. He looked down, frightened on what his love would think and do to him. He would at least go to Dumbledore... Right?

 

Draco looked up, expecting disgust, shock and hatred on Harry's face.

 

What he found was breath stopping.

 

Harry looked relieved.

 

Relieved.

 

And grateful.

 

Grateful.

 

Harry said softly,

 

“Thank you. If they had continued living I would have been sent back.”  
  


Harry realised something in that moment.

 

Malfoy truly loved him more than anything else.

 

Malfoy had killed for him.

 

Something so much harder than dying for him, to have that stain on your soul.

 

Luna muttered under her breath, in the midst of humming and nonsensical babble, quiet enough that no one would hear her,

 

“Soon the lord will be the lord. The council will be the council. The consort will be the consort. And the truth will be the truth. Let they live in love and happiness forever. The right fate ringing out and the angel's gift becoming everlasting. The unlikely hero will be the helper and the Little Moon will be the little Lady. Let daisy chains becoming broken shackles and nightmares become distant memories. The walls of the house are too thick and too empty. Let us never forget the wolves in the walls, and the traitors in the mix.”

 

She hummed a single last sad note of her song before heading back to the Ravenclaw dorm, letting herself be bullied so that the bullies may become what they needed to be, so their guilt could eventually be of use. Then she fell asleep, vaguely wondering about when Lord Harry would finally kiss his Consort.

 

Perhaps the night of the blood moon.

 

Things were bound to be interesting then.

 

Oh. But first she needed to wait and let Harry be chosen as the fourth champion.

 

Otherwise the invisibles would never let her hear the end of it. _Oh don't mess with fate Luna_.

 


	10. When I suck face and loyalties are tested - because magic exists

 

Harry sat in the Griffindor common room. Without Neville, Malfoy or Luna. His eyes narrowed. Staring at the pair of red headed twins in front of him, which looked guilty and distraught. _Apparently_ they wanted to talk to Harry again. After four months. Two days before he was heading home.

 

 _Why_?

 

Fred spoke first. Although Harry didn't _know_ if it was Fred, he decided to name the twin that spoke first 'Fred' always. To save himself the confusion.

 

“Little brother. Our old old hearts-”

 

“Weep for you.”

 

Interrupted 'George'.

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. His heart had shut off to all those who had ignored him, only a week after it began. He no longer considered the twins as brothers for quite a time. No longer considered them ones that would care for him. That would break the bars off the window of his prison. They were nothing but traitors.

 

Quite like Pettigrew, as his not-so-sane Godfather often mentioned.

 

Traitors.

 

Fred continued,

 

“All along we-”

 

“Trusted Ronnikins to-”

 

“Tell the truth and-”

 

“Yet now we know for sure-”

 

“That he was lying.”

 

Harry was not swayed. They knew this. They knew they had breached his trust when he was weakest. They knew that his stoic silence was a punishment, a not-so-deadly death sentence, an acceptance _but not forgiveness_ of their guilt. And they were guilty.

 

George sighed,

 

“O woe betide us-”

 

“The fools that believed.”

 

“We never should.”

 

“It was silly indeed.”

 

“But we had hoped-”

 

“That Ronnikins could have been-”

 

“Truthful. Although it hurt our hearts-”

 

“To think something so sinister-”

 

“We refused to believe-”  
  


“His lies were what they were.”

 

“Filthy, filthy lies.”

 

“And we don't expect-”

 

“One so just and righteous as you little brother-”

 

“To forgive us for our sins.”

 

“We need you to understand-”  
  
“That it was our own-”

 

“Twisted loyalty that forced this-”

 

“And we regret every minute-”

 

“Of mistrust and sheep-i-ness.”

 

“We had assumed, wrongfully,-”

 

“That Ronnikins was not evil,-”

 

“That he would not lie-”

 

“About something so serious as suicide.”

 

“Especially since our own dearest-”

 

“Cousin Theodore had attempted.”

 

“We do not hope to ever-”  
  


“Regain what little trust we had gained,-”

 

“But know that we will always-”

 

“Love you little brother-”  
  


“As one of our own-”  
  


“To take care of you as our own-”

 

“And we will always-”

 

“Be here for you in the future.”

 

“Never following those dastardly-”  
  


“Cowardly lions that believed-”  
  


“Such horrendous rumours and lies-”

 

“Again!

 

They both bowed their heads. Harry thought he saw a tear in Fred/George's eyes. And they said at the same time, in a despairing and desperate tone,

 

“ _We're sorry_.”

 

Harry paused for a moment.

 

Contemplated.

 

Considered all the times they had been there for him.

 

Considered how they saw him as their brother.

 

And thought of how they were so repentant.

 

And if they ever betrayed him again what revenge he would act upon...

 

Harry said stonily,

 

“You're on probation.”

 

They cheered and hugged him tightly, ignoring his flinch, and whispering gracious apologies in the throes of relief and guilt. Harry sighed and leaned slightly into their brotherly embrace. Noticing their serious expressions as they let him go. Fred spoke,

 

“Little brother-”

 

“We will never-”

 

“Not ever-”

 

“A thousand times never-”

 

“Betray you again.”

 

And Harry believed them.

 

Harry almost skipped as he, Neville, Malfoy and Luna walked around the circumference of the Black Lake once again. Tomorrow he was going home. Finally leaving the scorn of the school behind. Finally following his freedom as it led him to happiness. Finally being able to live with Sirius, sane or not. And finally... finally being out of the dreaded clutches of the dead Dursleys. He could almost kiss Malfoy!

 

But he didn't.

 

Because Malfoy was not his Consort no matter how many times Luna said it was so. And the thought of _touching_ Malfoy...

 

It sent shivers down his spine.

 

And not in a good way.

 

But, Harry thought, perhaps taking Luna's advice had been for the best. Acknowledging his emotions, and _grudgingly_ taking up meditation as Snape had suggested, had helped him a lot more than his failing apathy. Harry was... not happy. Never happy. But more content than he had been for a long time. Reminding him of when he was seven and he had found one of his flowers blooming in the middle of Winter because he had wished to see something beautiful... And it had happened. That hope that had burned hot like fire in his chest was rekindled now. In the shape of security, friendship and the knowledge that unless someone could revive the dead he would never have to return to his summer hell.

 

Harry let a smile grace his lips and twirled around the outer edge, holding Neville's hands as he did so. Twirling the ex-Griffindor who seemed relived about Harry's hap- contentment and exasperated at his antics. Malfoy was growling, his eyes narrowed slightly, but Harry just rolled his eyes and ignored him, giggling as he danced with his true friend. Neville joined him as they twirled to a song that apparently Luna could hear, because she started to hum louder as she saw this.

 

Harry felt...

 

It was hard to describe. He still had all his worries, memories and nightmare in the back of his mind. He still had his despair and depression pressing on him like a suffocating hard to the neck that he knew so well. And Harry was still uneasy, distrustful and paranoid that none of this would last. But right now was a feeling of childishness. Of letting everything drift into the cold winds. Of letting this simple joy of being free with his friends make his heavy heart not so hard to lift.

 

It still weighed the same, but with many hands carrying it along with him. Carrying his heart close to his chest and his burdens on their shoulders as well. Made it seem lighter, and not so hard to carry, even if it was just as heavy.

 

Luna stopped stopped abruptly and turned to Harry, pulling him out of his carefree dance. She said,

 

“Lord Harry call your un-sired Elf Butler.”

 

Harry cocked his head to the side in confusion and yelled,

 

“Dobby!”

 

In this moment, Malfoy took the time to separate Neville and Harry's hands. Eyes still slightly narrowed and jealousy obvious. But he didn't _say_ anything. He just _calmly no I'm not giving you a death stare_ removed their grip. Harry didn't notice. More interested in what Luna was going to do.

 

Dobby appeared, bowing to Harry, spouting off things about his 'greatness' 'goodness' and 'kindness'. Luna found this amusing but didn't say anything to dishearten the elf. Instead she bowed back, something that shocked everyone, and said,

 

“As a fellow server of Lord Harry, I request to you, fine Elf Butler, to fetch me a chocolate milk _for the good of the wizard kind_!”

 

Dobby took her very seriously and said nobly,

 

“Blonde Girl! For the good of wizard kind I will _get you your milk_!”

 

Then he popped away and Harry shrugged, no longer dancing, but walking at a moderate pace. Dobby returned a moment later and handed Luna her milk, which was in a glass bottle. She bowed to him again and whispered something in his ear, at which his eyes shone brightly and he saluted her, and then she took to drinking her milk slowly. The group walked in silence, basking together in it, as it was their last day and they were close enough to not need to speak to one another.

 

When they had almost returned to the castle an all too familiar sickening cold fell over them. Harry didn't pay it mind as he was used to the dementors and knew that they no longer effected him. It was to his absolute shock when one of his flying friends swooped down and took a rattling breath.

 

He was being kissed.

 

Neville stood in shock. Malfoy appeared to be in the process of fainting, but when he was still conscious making his way over to Harry, _walking towards a dementor_ , to try and free him. Luna continued to hum and walked briskly over to where he lay, pulling out a green stone from her pocket, and throwing it at the unearthly creature. The dementor then hissed in pain and flew away from what it then considered to be a demonic energy. Because nothing human could make _it_ feel pain.

 

Luna knelt down beside the pale Harry, who was still awake barely, and took a sip of her chocolate milk. Then leaning down and kissing Harry, dropping the contents of her drink down his throat. Harry warmed up immediately and she walked away, watching him regain his bearings. Malfoy, once he regained his _own_ bearings, glared at Luna and looked to be about to throttle her.

 

She had just kissed Harry!

 

Neville was still standing in shock, a greyish colour, and Luna wordlessly handed him her chocolate milk, at which he drank immediately.

 

Harry sat up. Shocked at being kissed. And narrowed his eyes at Luna accusingly.

 

Luna smiled,

 

“I have stolen Lord Harry's first kiss! It would seem _prudent_ to repay him.”

 

Harry watched her warily, standing up as to better protect himself,

 

“Luna-”

 

“Little Moon.”

 

She corrected with a dazzling smile. Harry said slowly,

 

“ _Little Moon_ , I do not _want_ to steal _your_ first kiss if that's what you're implying.”

 

Luna chuckled to herself, ignoring Malfoy who was glaring a hole in her back, and said,

 

“No. Lord Harry. I believe your Consort would _not_ accept that as payment. Instead I shall do the thing I should have done the moment I saw you in the Great Hall two years ago.”

 

Luna knelt down on the ground, wand in grasp, and Harry was _very_ confused. Neville and Malfoy seemed to understand so he wasn't... _too_ worried. Just slightly worried. Luna placed her wand against her skull and said,

 

“I, Luna, _Lady_ Florence Lovegood, do hereby swear on my life and my magic to hold loyalty to Harry, _Lord_ James Potter. _Et sermo meus non conteram._ I shall shield him like a cloak from prying gazes. I shall hold him like the mighty magic when he falls. I shall let him wield me like a weapon for when he needs it. I shall follow him to the ends of the Earth and return unscathed if he should so wish. I shall lie to my dearest lover if he declares it. I shall kill my oldest friend should he choose. I shall grant him my life for his if he wants. And I shall protect him from the cold cruel laugh of fate if he tells me to. _Et sermo meus non conteram_. So I say it. So mote it be. _Sic fiat semper._ So mote it be.”

 

Harry heard Neville gasp,

 

“A loyalty oath.”

 

Malfoy intoned gravely,

 

“The first that has been sung in over a thousand years.”

 

Luna smiled as stood, pocketing her wand again, curtsied to Harry, and said,

 

“To the ends of the Earth, Lord Harry.”

 

“And I you, Little Moon.”

 

 


	11. When I'm not even there except for Jesus references - Harry-centric yeah sure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello readers! This is going to be a 'Luna chapter', so sorry about that if it isn't your style. I'd love to hear some reviews and suggestions! Thank you for reading.

 

Luna stood at the edge of the forest, looking in like someone looking in through a window. It was another world out there. Full of wild beasts and docile screams. Running rivers and sentient trees. She was always destined to visit. Perhaps not always now, but always eventually. Whether it was at eight years old when she stole her father's broom and flew across the country to visit. Or whether she was fourteen, just met Harry Potter, and made her way to the forest to consult his destiny. Or whether she never met him, but Luna made her way anyway eventually, at thirty, as the journalist for the Quibbler, questioning her own reality with ones so cryptic and unbiased that they rivalled her own touch of insanity.

 

For knowing the possibilities of the future can make something think and do peculiar things.

 

She stood, staring out into the darkness of the trees, listening as the sounds of nocturnal animals faded shiftlessly across the wooded moors. It was the night of the full moon, the eve before they left for home, and wild werewolves prowled the forest, their instincts keeping them away from the dangers of the castle. Luna waited, turning her green gem stone over and over in her fingers. Feeling the buzz of its protective magic.

 

She looked up to the night sky, the blanket of stars staring down at her. If only the centaurs taught their magic, she could have read them. But, Luna didn't need the stars to read. She could already read the dreaded lines of fate. Every choice she made, or helped others make, led to a different path. And meeting Harry Potter in third year, two years early, changed fate tremendously. Luna knew she had angered the centaurs, for doing something so taboo and unthinkable as messing with the stars wisdom.

 

It was only customary that she explain her 'misgivings'. Not that she had done anything wrong.

 

The sounds of hooves, many hooves, clattering around her, shook Luna out of her stupor. She lowered her gaze to the centaurs around her, their coats glistening like water in the moonlight. Luna bowed deeply to them, making a low growling sound in her throat, and waited for them to return in kind. She looked up to their leader, Black Hoof of the Storm Coats. His human name _Fiore_.

 

Luna lifted herself and spoke,

 

“Star Gazers, let your fate be followed and truths ring steadily. I be Little Moon of the Council of the Cerberus. Your audience lightens my heart true, and I you?”

 

Little Snout, his human name _Bane_ , snorted derisively,

 

“ _Luna Lovegood_ be a _human_. Fiore, you cannot really be accepting? She is one who muddles the waters of _fate_! We must follow it true no matter where it leads. She may have _destroyed_ our world!”

 

Black Hoof glared at Little Snout, he spoke deeply,

 

“Bane, you forget your title, do you not? _Little_ Snout? Who are you to speak when I am addressed? Be gone, nigh you let your prejudice destroy the bonds of Sight!”

 

Little Snout lowered his head in shame and trotted off quickly into the forest. The other centaurs stared at Black Hoof in respect, and held their tongues with pride. Black Hoof turned to look at Luna, analysing her greatly,

 

“Child of the Stars, Little Moon as you name yourself, I honour your heart and hold it close.”

 

Luna let out a sigh of relief. The meeting had not been for certain. Black Hoof nodded his head in understanding before saying,

 

“Child, you can see as well as one looking at the night unclouded. You possess the gift often sought and lost through the twirling winds of time. Yet, knowing of fate, you choose to disregard your path? To meet the third man before your chosen time? What plea you, to decide whether you deserve magic's blessing?”

 

Luna narrowed her eyes and said,

 

“One with the shiniest hooves, I plea _common_! Fate had not been followed truly. Fate had been ignored, a different path chosen, when the third man faced his boggart and the chained wolf did not interrupt. You know as well as I, as every hooved seer here, you do not see fate with hooded eyes and clouded vision, that fate does not follow a single path.”

 

There was much murmuring between the centaurs. Eventually Black Hoof spoke again,

 

“The path may have changed but does not the prophecy ring true? Does not fate follow what is said in the stars? That you, Little Moon, Child of the winds and woes, doth meet the third man in his fifteenth year? Are the stars wrong?”

 

Luna almost growled at their implications.

 

“I do not see fate through unchanged light. I cannot read the stars such as you. But I see the future for what is true. When the third man faced his boggart, showed his fear, and was gifted a curse from an angel _fate had changed_. Your _prophecy_ is not concrete. It does not hold absolute. And it can change, and its change is as true as any. The third man never should have befriended his Consort. The third man never should have given the unlikely hero the title of his Best. The third man never should have cut Old Beard's chains. Can you not see that fate has chosen a different path? Does she not speak to you in the stars? If I had not intervened when I was to, the third man _would have died_ from the Rattle's Breath. The angel would have helped him stay alive, but his soul would have been gone. The third man would have been _soulless_ , not a true creature of Mortal. You are blinded by your stars. Can you not see them truly? That fate sings a different song? That I now dance to her new tune? Not one of a prophecy. Not one of a frauded seer, but one of my own eyes and my own sights. Can you no longer see her wisdom?”

 

The centaurs spoke again in hushed tones, Luna practically burning with rage. How dare they insinuate she would mess with one so wholesome as fate? After a few moments Black Hoof said,

 

“Child of the stars, thank you dearly for explaining your actions. The stars read the same but the interpretation is different. They say the same words to a different melody. It is slight, and one cannot normally see, but _we see now_ that the stars are not repeating their message. Our humblest of apologies, we were not aware. Let your dreams guide your truths, faithful Little Moon.”

 

Luna bowed,

 

“I forgive your transgressions, as they are so easy to make. Let your fields be endless and food filled, so that your young may grow old and live as they are meant to, Holy Black Hoof.”

 

As Luna turned and walked back to the castle, green stone still in her hand, she saw the shock on Black Hoof's face that she spoke his true name. She gave herself a little smile.

 

Centaurs could be such silly creatures. Not truly understanding their gifts, but being more understanding than most.

 

Now.

 

She had to contact her father.

 

Luna stepped out of the fireplace, soot covering her clothes. Hogwarts students weren't allowed to use the Floo unless it was an emergency. She decided to excuse herself of that rule as she had important things to accomplish. Slipping through Professor Snape's Floo was relatively easy, the real problem was slipping back into Hogwarts in time; as the wards around it would have been triggered.

 

She only had twenty minutes or so.

 

As Luna looked about her house, she walked languidly to the living room. She knew her father would be up late reading, or perhaps writing the newspaper. He was awfully obsessed with journalism. There was a slim chance that he was asleep, as it was one 'o' clock in the morning, but Luna sincerely doubted it. As she had been in this situation before.

 

She reached the room quickly to see her father sitting snugly in 'his' armchair. It was red with polka dots, and was the armchair her mother used before she passed away. He didn't even look up as she entered, and gracefully stood at the doorway. Luna called,

 

“Father, I cannot return for the summer.”

 

He looked up from his newspaper, placing it almost reverently beside him, with an unfathomable expression. He said softly,

 

“And why is that dear?”

 

Luna smiled, her posture absolutely _oozing_ pride.

 

“I have found my destiny, father. I must follow it.”

 

Her father frowned,

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Luna nodded,

  
“Yes. I have seen it clearly. The fates have changed.”

 

He tilted his head to the side in a contemplative manoeuvre,

 

“You will be fine, won't you? You will not be lost like your mother?”

 

Luna smiled dimly,

 

“My life will not be lost for many years. Not in the coming war anyway.”

 

He nodded in satisfaction,

 

“As long as you can stay safe whilst following your fate it is fine with me.”

 

Luna said tentatively,

  
“May I recommend you move to Russia?”

 

Her father frowned again, his blonde eyebrows furrowing,

 

“Russia is such a cold place, dearie. Is there no where else?”

 

Luna stood stiffly, peering into the fates for a moment, before replying,

 

“You would die in Britain, France, Belgium and America. You would be maimed in most tropical countries. However, Russia suits your safety best. You may be able to bargain with Australia, but depending on how things go you might be attacked by the wildlife.”

 

He sighed,

 

“And when do I need to leave?”

 

Luna paused again, letting her thoughts drift off into the maddening oblivion of Sight,

 

“I believe just before my fourth year would be safest, two years from now. Any earlier would draw suspicion, and later would lead to your death.”

 

He asked,

 

“Suspicion?”

 

Luna sighed,

 

“The fates are not as clean cut as they once were. Instead of three sides to the war there may be five or even six. It will not be as safe as before, but in the same way it will not be as corrupt. People will not be seen by their lies, but by their actions. Suspicion will be heavy in the air, almost as thick as the bloodshed.”

 

He gulped, before nodding anxiously,

 

“Then it shall be done, dear. Will I see you again?”

 

Luna shook her head,

 

“This will be our last meeting, unless you do not follow my advice. Which is unlikely. But, father, it was always destined to end this way. I have finally found my path and I would be silly not to follow it.”

 

Her father mused quietly, after a long moment of silence,

 

“Did you know your mother's path was to birth you? Her destiny to raise you, and accept your gifts. She was not a true seer like you. She only had one vision, and that was the need for a child.”

 

Luna sniffed,

 

“She needn't have died, father. The fates are twisted in that regard.”

 

He smiled softly to her,

 

“We all need to die one day. Surely you can see that better than anyone?”

 

Luna nodded stiffly,

 

“Yes. I can.”

 

Then she walked gracefully over to him, as if drifting on water, swimming through the air, and leant down and hugged her father tightly. She whispered,

 

“Let the fates be with you.”

 

He smiled,

 

“And you too, dear.”

 

As she stepped off the train the following day, she couldn't help but feel a cruel sense of excitement. Soon the council would form. Soon the truths would be told.

 

And soon her Lord Harry would be healed.

 

As Luna followed Harry, petting the large black dog that walked beside him, he turned to her.

 

A question in his eyes.

 

“Are you coming too, Luna?”

 

She corrected gently,

 

“Little moon.”

 

Then continued, smiling,

 

“It is my fate, Lord Harry. Just like my mother's fate was to birth me, like Mary from the bible.”

 

Harry's eyebrows lifted into his hair line, he said incredulously,

 

“Are you saying you are Jesus, Little Moon?”

 

Luna shook her head, laughing softly,

 

“I am not a boy, Lord Harry. And I am not a miracle.”

 

Harry turned to her, soft affection on his face,

 

“No, Little Moon, you are so much more.”

 

 

 


	12. When I am not in an Authors Note!

ATTENTION READERS!

Hey, thanks for reading this. It was a lot of fun to write, and I'm glad so many people found it interesting!

Sequel _soon_. (yay)

 

**The Blood Moon.**

 

So... watch out for that, eh? I will be posting it the same way, just whenever I can, and I hope I can get started on it soon. But, I do have other stories I'm working on like 'Seeing the truth' and 'Secret Romance', along with a new one I have yet to post... so those should be excited. Merry Christmas, I hope everyone had a nice holiday, and I have one question to leave you all with...

 

Should Cedric, Fleur, Viktor or all three champions flirt with Harry?

Or a combination of them:

Cedric?

Fleur?

Viktor?

Cedric and Fleur?

Cedric and Viktor?

Fleur and Viktor?

Cedric, Fleur and Viktor?

_And should they work together to create some type of polyamorous relationship with him only to be shot down time and time again?_

 

(its mostly just to make Draco jealous)

 


	13. When I think silently "Authors Note... Oh no not another one?!"

ATTENTION READERS!

Hello again, just thought I'd let everyone know that I've started to write the sequel to The Boggart,

 

_**The Blood Moon.** _

 

So, that should be great. Um, just thought I'd say its starting out with a slightly darker tone than the last one. Reader - “What, but the last one started with Harry being abused and then committing suicide, how could this be as bad?! Stop these lies this instance!!!”

 

Well, random reader quote (Warning: Not an actual quote), all I'm saying is Harry starts off a bit... depressed/suicidalish and not as 'I don't care and I quit' as before. Neville and Draco are gone in the first part of it so Harry sort of unfolds a bit.

 

But, do not worry, it doesn't stay bad forever, and I have already planned some (slightly dramatic and unnecessary) twists for the end of this one, and have researched 'Wizarding Flirting' so that Cedric and Viktor can be as _smooth_ as I want them portrayed as.

 

Sorry for rambling.

 

It has begun.

 


End file.
